


i pray for everything we lost

by electr1c_compass



Category: Pod Save America (RPF)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Crooked era, Divorce, Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2019-03-07 21:15:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 38,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13443540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/electr1c_compass/pseuds/electr1c_compass
Summary: Jon might not have much, but at least for this one weekend a year, he has Lovett.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Don't Take the Money" by Bleachers. Much love to my betas: Alyssa, Marjorie, Anna - you all cheered me on and made this story a million times better. xo

Jon swirls his wine in his glass, for no other reason than to have something to do. It’s too dim in the restaurant for the liquid to really catch the light, staying murky and dark.

“...and so that’s how I ended up in LA,” Robin finishes.

“That’s great,” he tells her, meeting her gaze across the table. “Moving here was the best thing that ever happened to me.”

“There’s a—”

“Just that feeling you get, right?”

Robin laughs. (Jon has one hard and fast rule for dating in LA and he tenses, waiting for the moment. If she brings up the “vibe” of the city, he’s out.) “Yeah, exactly.”

“So what’s your story?” She asks, propping her chin on her hand. “I know — you know Alyssa from DC, obviously, but why LA?”

Jon grins a little, twists the stem of the wine glass between his fingertips. “I had a friend out here, didn’t want to move back home to Boston, didn’t want to stay in DC.”

“Cheers to that.” She raises her glass.

He shrugs. “It worked out. I’ve been here ever since.”

The conversation stalls and Robin leans forward to take a bite of her food. Jon doesn’t know what to do next, takes a sip from his wine glass. It’s not like… he _has_ dated in the last two years, gone on other blind setups, had more hookups than he’s proud of, but for some reason, he’s floundering.

“So, uh, how do you know Alyssa? I know you mentioned DC.” He tries and some long forgotten instinct must kick in, or maybe it’s the rest of the wine, because the conversation flows easily enough from there.

Alyssa, it turns out, knows Robin well enough that she’s spilled nearly every good story she has on Jon — and Tommy by association — but Robin’s kind enough not to torture him too much about it. Still, he’d gone painfully red at a few points and she’d laughed until she got tears in her eyes, looking at him with an affection that he can’t parse enough to interpret.

“It was really nice to meet you,” he tells Robin sincerely, holding open the door of her Lyft as she slides in.

“You too,” she says, reaching out to touch his hand. “I’m glad we did this.”

This time it’s a little less honest: “Yeah, me too.”

There’s a moment, a beat, a pause where he _should_ offer to take her back to his place or lean in to kiss her or tell her they’ll do it again. Her dark eyes are searching his face, waiting. “I’ll give you a call,” he says instead, awkward and painfully out of practice. She gives him a little smile and it’s clear they both know he won’t.

“It was nice to meet you, Jon.” She repeats and he waves with his free hand, shuts the door with the other.

It’s close enough, by LA standards anyway, to walk home instead of calling a car, so he does, wandering through streets so familiar they’re barely background noise. He thumbs a text to Alyssa: _Robin was great. Thanks._

She doesn’t respond and he scrolls down to his last unread message, takes a deep breath and steels himself to open it. It’s from Lovett, sent yesterday.

_Can you come to Florida this year?_

Jon takes a long, heavy breath. Summer in DC was so oppressively hot, weighed down by too much humidity and car exhaust, he’d go for runs before the sun crept up, still struggling to breathe through the dense air. It felt like he was pushing through water.

It feels like that now, even in the dry sunbaked heat of California.

Before he can think about it too much, he replies: _sure_

 

He doesn’t tell Tommy, mostly because he can already play out the conversation by heart. But then he has trouble sleeping when he gets back home, wakes up feeling on edge and restless after a too-realistic dream about failing a French quiz. Recording the ads takes twice as long as it should — he stumbles over his words and accidentally cuts off Tommy's joke more than once. Mid-way through the day, he snaps “I’m _busy_ ” at Tanya when she asks him about the venue for the next live show. She startles a little at his tone, looking hurt. Without missing a beat, Tommy methodically pushes back his desk chair, drags him by his sleeve into the kitchen and shuts the sliding door behind them.

“What the fuck?”

Jon sighs, turning away from him and reaching out to flip through some of the packages of snacks on the counter, plucking out a packet of mocha almonds. “I didn’t sleep well last night.”

“Not an excuse,” Tommy replies promptly. “You've been a goddamn mess all day.”

“I know. I…” He sighs, leans against the edge of the counter for a minute. “I’ll apologize.” The walls in the kitchen certainly aren’t soundproof and he’s hesitant to say more.

Tommy stays quiet, waits Jon out with his arms crossed over his blue button-down. He looks intimidating, trying to stare him down, but Jon knows better. When he pushes past him to walk out of the room, Tommy doesn’t try to stop him.

The other employees pretend not to notice when they come back in separately and Jon murmurs a quiet “sorry” to Tanya as he passes her desk. She squeezes his hand gently as Tommy settles back at his computer next to Jon. The room’s quiet, filled with the sound of typing and someone’s soft jazz playlist. The words on Jon’s screen blur together, his heartbeat too loud in his ears. Tommy sits still beside him, gaze flickering between Jon and his laptop.

He doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t _want_ to say anything, definitely doesn’t want to repeat this fight again. Instead, he opens the text chain from Lovett and slides his phone over to Tommy. He picks it up and reads the exchange once, twice.

The slam of the phone back on the table echoes a little in the silent room. Tommy takes a deep breath, slides the phone back towards Jon and says quietly, “don’t be a fucking idiot.” They’ve been friends for more than fifteen years but Jon can’t tell if it’s a condemnation or a warning.

 

_How’s Thursday_

Jon’s phone buzzes in his hands and he squints down at the screen. No time or punctuation. Typical.

 _Fine_. He sends back shortly, looking at the two messages for a few minutes. He scrolls back up to their last exchange — there’s not much there: three months before, making plans to take the dogs to the park — before turning the screen off. There’s a headache building up behind his eyes and he sighs heavily, putting his head in his hands.

 _Come over to mine_ Lovett offers and Jon can hear the implicit question mark in the sentence. The casual uncertainty.

 _Okay_.

There are other details to figure out, other things they should discuss, but it’s late in the afternoon. The sun’s casting deep shadows across his living room and the apartment is too quiet around him, the chatter of his next door neighbors drifting distantly through the walls. He just doesn’t have the mental energy it takes to deal with Lovett right now. Not anymore.

When he doesn’t hear back from Lovett immediately, he types out: _see you then_

Then deletes it before sending.

 

 

_Jon wakes up when Hanna leaves, slipping out the door and shutting it quietly behind her. It’s not her fault — he can’t sleep for shit anymore. He comes back to himself slowly and almost wishes he hadn’t. Someday, maybe, he’ll resurface without being surprised at his surroundings, come back to consciousness without finding his chest raw and aching._

_He can hear Tommy rustling around in their bedroom and then a soft “hello?” after his phone vibrates against the hard surface of...his nightstand, maybe, loud and insistent. “Hey, Jon.”_

_Jon loses his breath and stays as still as possible, straining to listen._

_“Yeah, we’re...it’s fine. How are you?” Lovett speaks for a long time, Tommy’s listening noises soft and encouraging. “I get it, yeah. Yeah, okay.” Tommy’s quiet for a long pause, then says “Leo’s okay, misses you. Yeah, if Pundit needs to play with Lucca, I’ll — yeah, text me later and we can...” He moves away from the door then and his words become too muffled to make out. When he opens the door and steps into the living room, Jon pretends to be asleep._

_“Are you going to this appointment?” Tommy asks, standing over the couch._

_“Yes,” Jon mumbles into the pillow._

_“Get up.” Jon doesn’t move and Tommy sighs. “You need to get out.”_

_“Thanks.”_

_“I’m serious, dude. It’s been three weeks.”_

_“I’ve left the house.” He turns away from Tommy, burrowing into the cushions._

_“Jon, you know what I mean.” Tommy’s hand grips his shoulder, shaking him gently. “Come on, you have to go see this apartment. You can do it, let’s go.”_

_“I’m_ going _,” he complains, swinging his legs over the edge, before getting up and grabbing his clothes out of the suitcase opened in the corner. He sniffs them. They smell fine, but there’s a chance he wore them yesterday too. Whatever. Jon pauses by the bathroom door, arms full of clothes. “Tom?”_

_“Yeah?” Tommy’s folding up his sheets, reclaiming their couch for the day._

_“Will you go with me?”_

_“Already planned on it.”_

_He doesn't know what to say, fiddles with the tag on his shirt. His chest hurts, aches with an emotion he still can’t name yet. If he could, he’d call it heartbreak, but...he can’t do that yet. So he clears his throat, hoarsely says “thanks”._

 

 

Thursday rolls around too quickly and he leaves Tommy’s house early after a few restless hours of attempted work. By now, Tommy knows better than to suggest they work at the office on days like this, lures him over under the guise of a play date with Lucca. He’d sat dutifully on Tommy’s couch for a few hours and half-wrote replies to thirty emails, leaving them all drafted.

Dan had sent him a text the night before that simply said: _i’ll finish the outline_ and so he sets up in Tommy's office, expensive microphones be damned. It's second nature to set up the phone, ProTools. Dan calls him two minutes before they're set to record and before he conferences in Alyssa.

“Tommy told me,” he says, “just uh...that you're seeing Lovett and doing Florida again.”

Jon sighs. “It's not...not a big deal. Last year was fine.”

“You’d been divorced for six months. I'm not sure you were fully conscious last time.”

“Conference in Alyssa while I set up the recording,” Jon tells him. “She hates it when we're late.”

“Just...be careful, please.” Dan warns.

 

Before he leaves, Tommy settles a hand on his shoulder, steadies him.

“You okay?” He asks and Jon nods, full of frantic, nervous energy. He could try to shrug it off, remind Tommy they saw each other just a few months ago and he handled it like an adult, but he just fidgets under Tommy’s palm instead. “Call me if you need anything.” Tommy pulls Jon into a hug and he relaxes into it for a minute.

“Thanks, Tom.” His words are muffled into Tommy’s shoulder before he steps away and over to his car, Leo hanging out of the window as he backs down the driveway.

It’s been two years since he’s been there and yet, driving to Lovett’s house is still muscle memory, worn deep by years and years of long days and late nights. Catching sight of himself in the rearview mirror reminds him of those two years: he’s heavily gray now and there’s a pair of reading glasses tucked next to his laptop. He parks on the street, instead of blocking Lovett in, and leans over to open the passenger door for Leo, who jumps out and runs across the yard. As Jon approaches, he barks excitedly.

“Does it smell familiar, bud?” Jon feels stupid for a minute — of _course_ it does and it’s not like Leo can answer him — but he grins to himself when Pundit yelps back from inside, her nails scrabbling against the door.

 

_“Pundit,” Jon chides as she barks furiously, scratching at the door as the UPS truck pulls away from their house. “Stop that.”_

_“Don’t fuss at her,” Lovett fusses, leaning around him to pick her up. “She’s perfect.”_

_“She’s ruining our door.”_

_“It’s adding character.”_

_“You can’t keep saying that when she messes up the house.” Jon grabs the package off the porch. “You should tell her not to.”_

_Lovett shrugs, leaning forward to read the shipping label. “You tell her. Or we’ll pay to repaint. Or you’ll get used to it because kids are worse than whatever she's doing.”_

_“Don’t say that,” Jon says quietly._

_“Your pessimism,” Lovett pokes him gently, “is going to be my next Rant Wheel grievance. It’ll be fine.”_

 

The door swings open as his foot hits the top step and he nearly stumbles when he sees Lovett. It hasn't been that long since they last met up, but it still catches him off guard — being this close, being _here_. His hair has grown out, curls shaggy around his ears. Jon has to stop himself from reaching out. They haven’t touched in over two years, keeping a careful, measured distance, but it still feels like Jon’s fighting against himself.

“Hey,” Lovett says carefully, stepping back to let Leo through the door. As soon as he’s crossed the threshold, Leo leaps forward to greet Pundit, wagging frantically.

“Hey.”

Jon stays on the porch, waiting until Lovett stretches a hand out and says, “D’ya wanna come in?”

“Yeah, thanks.” The space between them narrows as Jon brushes by him to step through the door. He hopes against hope he’s breathing normally, only...nothing about this feels normal.

Lovett leads the way down the hall, like Jon doesn’t know his way to the kitchen, like he couldn’t do it blindfolded. “Do you want anything to drink?” he calls over his shoulder.

“Water would be great.” Jon follows more slowly, casting a watchful eye over the walls, making mental notes of what’s changed in the two years since he set foot in their — Lovett’s — house. There’s a movie poster he doesn’t recognize where one of his Obama posters used to hang, a picture of Pundit — must have been a gift from Fran or a sponsor, he knows better than to think Lovett printed it himself — that replaced a picture of the two of them. The dogs race past him once, twice, obviously elated to be back together. “How’s uh, work?”

“The show’s still good,” Lovett replies casually from where he’s filling a glass at the refrigerator. The cabinet door sits open, glasses and plates on display, and there’s a weird comfort, Jon thinks, seeing that the dishes are still in their rightful place. “Working on writing something new, but,” he shrugs, “we’ll see if it turns into anything, I guess. You?”

“Good, yeah.” Jon reaches for the glass Lovett sets on the counter and takes a seat on one of the bar stools. He’s chosen the broken stool, of course, the one that Lovett had insisted they’d return to Ikea eventually. It creaks a little under him and the spring in the cushion digs uncomfortably into his tailbone, but he can feel Lovett’s gaze on him, assessing, and stays seated. “Busy, you know.”

Lovett shrugs. “That’s the rumor on the streets.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He feels on edge in this too-familiar space, thrown off balance as a guest in his former home. The dog park they usually meet at on Fountain is a safe, neutral meeting ground, free of any lurking memories. The house is anything but.

“The company?”

“You get the reports,” Jon says too harshly and the words hang between them.

“Yeah,” Lovett says evenly, “but I was asking you.”

“It's fine.”

“Okay,” Lovett drags the word out and something about the tone sounds disparaging. Jon suppresses the urge to snap back, but…they have bigger priorities to focus on.

“So, uh,” he takes a sip of water, “we’re doing this again?”

“Obviously,” Lovett says frostily. “We’ll be there Thursday to Sunday. I’ll book the tickets and you can pay me back —”

“Maybe I’ll use the Cash app,” Jon tries to joke.

“I honestly don’t give a fuck.” Lovett looks tired. “Digital, check, wire transfer...just as long as I get the money.”

Maybe, Jon thinks, staying quiet, that’s all it comes down to anymore.

 

_“It’ll be easy,” Jon tells his lawyer. He tugs at one of the cuff links; the suit doesn't fit right anymore and the fabric scratches against his skin. “There’s uh, no kids or anything. And we've agreed to this—” he indicates the folder she’s holding “— I think.”_

_“Anything else I should know about?” She asks, hand on the door to the conference room._

_He shakes his head, throat tight. The door swings open and Lovett’s lawyer stands. Lovett stays sitting, staring resolutely down at the table. His sports coat is bunched around his hunched shoulders and his eyes are red-rimmed and puffy._

_Jon sits across from him. One of their lawyers says something but he can't make out the words, doesn't process. He can’t see anything except for Lovett._

 

They move to the living room and Jon spends a few minutes cataloguing the changes. He’s kept their couch, stitching as ragged as it was when Jon left it two years before, but there’s a new rug below it — some bohemian woven grass “rug” that’s so LA, Jon almost can’t stand it — he’s upgraded his TV, and replaced the armchair now sitting in Jon’s apartment.

He catches Lovett watching him. “Got a new TV,” he comments lamely, waving a hand at it.

“Better for video games,” Lovett says simply and Jon drops the subject.

He settles on the couch while Lovett sits cross-legged on the rug, coffee table between them. Their old rug had a glaring brown stain on the corner closest to the dining room, where Lovett tripped coming into the living room and dropped Jon’s chocolate birthday cake, and the clear spot keeps catching Jon’s eye, contrasting with the picture in his head.

Sitting cautiously across from each other, they manage to sort out the rest of the details: Lovett’s parents will pick them up at the airport; Jon isn’t to say anything about the office that Lovett can’t follow; Jon catches him up on Tommy’s life, on Jon’s own, to the point where they at least can manufacture the semblance of a life together. Jon tries not to think about how it’s because they couldn’t make a real one work.

“If they ask anything weird, it’s probably because I mentioned something on the phone and forgot about it. Just —” Lovett waves a hand “— go along with it.”

“We’ve done this before,” Jon reminds him, “and it’s always been fine.”

“Done this before — we’ve done this _once_ and that’s hardly a stellar record.”

“I’ll be nice and kind and it’s only four days, I can’t get you in that much trouble with your parents.”

“Can’t or won’t?” Lovett mutters at his phone and Jon graciously pretends not to hear him.

“How are things with your dad?”

Lovett straightens and shifts in a way that has nothing to do with the fact that he's sitting on the floor. “Fine.”

“Fine, but he still doesn't know.”

“ _Obviously._ ”

Jon can feel his temper climbing, has to count the number of tiles spanning the floor before he trusts himself to respond. “Okay, but —”

“But what, Jon?” Lovett snaps. “Do you have another opinion on my relationship with my dad?”

“I just want to know what I'm getting into here. I have a right to know the details if I'm going to be doing this favor —”

“Oh how kind of you.”

Jon talks over him: “If you can't even tell your dad you got divorced —”

“ _We_ got divorced. You sat right across from me at that fucking table and signed those papers too.” Lovett’s tone stays even. Jon knows his mind is spinning, planning out different avenues their conversation could go and thinking of a comeback for every one.

He tries to match Lovett’s eerie, angry calm. “All I know is that you won't tell your dad we split up. And you avoided it last year too.”

Lovett sighs. “Don’t worry about it. My dad will be nice and we won’t talk about politics and it’ll be a quick four days.”

“But —” Jon knows he shouldn’t press, knows it’s like sticking a finger to a darkening bruise. Maybe there’s part of him that wants to see Lovett flinch.

It works. “We don’t all have supportive parents, Jon! We can’t all come out in our mid-thirties, get married to a man, and have everything be fine and normal. Some of us have to fight for it and sometimes the fight isn’t worth it!” Lovett jumps to his feet like he isn’t even aware of the action. “Sometimes it’s easier to leave well enough the fuck alone and not have to be the divorced gay son on top being the Democratic, gay disappointment!”

“I didn’t mean —”

“Don’t even pretend like you understand.” He paces a few steps away from Jon, scrubs a hand through his hair. The atmosphere diffuses a little. “I hate that I let you do that to me.”

Jon should say something. An apology, probably. He runs his hands over his thighs, smoothing out the wrinkles in his jeans. They need...something safe. “Do you want to board the dogs together?”

“The place knows they’re...whatever —” _Siblings_ , Lovett firmly doesn’t say “— they’ll let them play together, it doesn’t matter.”

Pundit comes over and snuggles up next to Jon’s leg, putting her head gently on his thigh. He settles against the worn leather of the couch and reaches out — lets himself reach out — to pet her, running his fingers through the soft fur behind her ears. And there’s the familiarity again, another well-worn memory springing up from somewhere in his consciousness, playing out like so many of their nights together: he, Lovett, the dogs, some terrifying show on the TV, snuggled on the couch until a socially acceptable time for bed. He thinks about their bed, the ridiculous king-size mattress they’d bought with “enough room for both of them, the dogs, and kids”; he vaguely remembers Lovett selling it on Craigslist, sheets, frame, and all.

The living room suddenly feels too small, even though Lovett’s on the other side of the room, like he can’t help but startle a memory everywhere he turns. He stands and Pundit loses her balance, falling against the cushion and glaring at him reproachfully. “I’m going to head out; have some, uh, work to do for the pod.”

Lovett watches him for a minute as Jon checks for his wallet and keys, but Jon ignores him and snaps his fingers to call Leo to his side. “If you forget your ring, I’ll kill you,” Lovett tells him finally as they walk to the door together, Leo wriggling in Jon’s arms. He’s as desperate to stay as Jon is to go. “You didn’t lose it, did you?”

“No, I didn’t lose my wedding ring,” Jon snaps a little, losing patience. He drank his water too quickly and now he has to pee, Leo won’t _hold still_ , and he doesn’t trust himself in this house where he feels too raw, too exposed. “Come on, Jon.”

Lovett holds his hands up in surrender. “Just an innocent question.”

“Appreciate the trust,” Jon says and doesn’t miss the way Lovett stiffens.

“I’ll forward you the flight info tonight,” he says, holding the door open. “Meet me here, don’t be late.”

 

 

“It was that bad, huh?” Jon doesn’t hear Tommy come into the apartment and jumps at his voice, drink sloshing in his glass. “Hard liquor bad is...bad.”

“Eloquent.”

“Asshole.” Tommy’s voice is gentle enough that Jon doesn’t take offense, just another sip of his drink.

“Happily married dick.”

Tommy hums a little at the last one and settles in next to him on the couch, body firm and warm against Jon. “Hanna sends her love. She’s worried you’re not eating again.”

“She’s worried or you’re worried?” Jon sips at the bourbon. “I’m fine. It was fine. We just,” he heaves a sigh, “sorted out details.”

“You’re divorced and about to go on a vacation with your ex-husband. You’re not fine.”

“I’m fine. And it’s not a vacation, it’s familial obligations.”

Tommy snorts a little. “Obligations. You _could_ choose not to go.”

“Tommy.”

He falls quiet but steadfastly refuses to apologize. “How’s Lovett?”

“Fine. Same as the last time I saw him. You've seen him more recently than I had.”

He can feel Tommy hesitating next to him, waits to see if he’ll say anything. “Should you really be doing this?”

“Lying to my former in-laws about still being married to their son for the second year in a row? Probably not.” He drains the glass. “Happy five year anniversary to me.”

“Don’t be melodramatic.” Tommy reaches around him for the remote and flips on the TV, settling back with an arm around Jon’s shoulders. “Your anniversary isn’t until November. It’s December.”

“Next November, it'll be six.” Jon says glumly, draining the glass and leaning forward to refill it.

“You'll have been divorced for as long as you were together,” Tommy observes unhelpfully.

“Thanks for that.”

Tommy shrugs in response, the movement shifting against Jon. “I meant it in like a...it’ll get easier way.”

“Did it get easier with Katie?” Maybe Jon's drunker than he really intended on being.

“Fuck you, it did and you know it. We're friends on Facebook now and it's fine.”

“Whatever. Can I still celebrate my anniversary even if we’re divorced?” Jon wonders aloud. “Maybe I’ll get myself a gift next year. Congratulations, Jon Favreau, you survived being married to Jon Lovett.” He chokes a little on the last sentence.

“Don’t be mean,” Tommy says softly. “You loved him. That was the difference with me and Katie.”

Jon watches the talking heads blur together on CNN, too tired to focus on their faces. “He still left me.” Tommy doesn’t say anything back, just pulls him a little closer.

 

 

Leo’s curled up at his feet, snoring; they’re at the office too late again, especially for a Friday. Jon’s sort of editing a piece, but mostly scrolling through Twitter, the remainder of his chicken curry cooling in a take-out box next to him. Sarah had left the Christmas lights plugged in, leaving them twinkling along the wall and reflecting against the glass of the conference room.

Jon likes having the office to himself on Fridays now, gets some of his best work done in the quiet space alone, is used to seeing the rest of the staff leave together, chattering and excited — and somehow it’s still a surprise when the picture on his Twitter feed pops up, captioned:

 **@crookedmedia:** The last #lovettorleaveit of the year is underway!

The picture is...excruciating. Lovett’s beaming under the spotlight at the Improv, background dark behind him. He’s laughing with a full body laugh that takes Jon’s breath away, eyes crinkled and index cards clutched in his hands.

Jon stares at the picture for long minutes, gaze tracing the lines of Lovett’s body that he knows so well. Except...he shouldn’t, he can’t. He gives himself another five seconds to look, and then another five.

“Stop it, Favreau,” he orders himself, out loud in the empty office, and forces himself to click away. He refreshes the page and the image stays up at the top of his feed. “Come _on_.” Giving up, he just closes the tab.

 

 

He’s barely gotten out of the car before Lovett says “do you have it?”

Jon holds up his left hand in response. The slim gold ring is settled in place and if he squints, he can see the matching glint from Lovett’s finger.

He hesitated a little, reaching for the ring on his bathroom counter that morning. It stuck on his knuckle before he forced it on, shifting it back into place with his thumb. It’s distracting and the weight of the metal around his ring finger feels heavier than deserved.

The silence has stretched on too long, so he says, “I’ve got it” and tugs his bag out of the backseat.

“Good,” Lovett says, locking his door behind him. “The Lyft is on it’s way.”

As the Lyft driver’s loading their suitcases, Lovett turns to Jon and says, “you should take the front, you’re better at small talk” and slides in the backseat, shutting the door behind him.

They don't talk on the ride, so Jon and the driver — Marco, a singer/songwriter and father of two — fill the silence. He catches Jon twisting his wedding ring around his finger, nods down. “Newlyweds?”

“Ah, no.”

Marco laughs. “I remember when I first got married. The ring felt weird for like, a week.” Jon murmurs an assent, turns to stare out the window.

They don't speak through security either. Lovett strides ahead of him, a Pod Save the People tee stretched across his chest and sweatpants bagging around his ankles, and methodically unloads his laptop, liquid bag. To anyone else, Jon thinks, they probably look like strangers.

“What’s the flight number?” Jon asks him when they’re past TSA, standing together in front of the Departures board.

“How the fuck should I know?” Lovett replies. “It’s United going to Miami — what else do you need?”

“Nothing,” Jon sighs and turns back to the screen. It's easier to figure it out on his own.

There's a blessedly short wait, each of them scrolling mindlessly through Twitter  When they're boarding the plane, Jon shoves his duffel in the overhead compartment and reaches automatically for Lovett’s suitcase behind him. Lovett freezes when Jon's hand touches the handle and Jon can practically see the argument playing out in his head — could probably sketch the broad points: the ease of not handling it himself, having to stand on his tiptoes and shoulder the bag into place (or worse, have an attendant step in to help); on the other side, it's Jon. It's always Jon.

“You're holding up the line,” Jon says, more snidely than he'd really intended.

“Fine.” Lovett pushes the bag towards him and slides into the row, taking the window seat. Jon pushes the bag up and takes his seat.

Their seats are next to each other — no use booking separate tickets — and Jon feels the bottom of his stomach drop away as the plane taxis out and starts to lift up. The space between them stays firmly in place, but he lets himself sink in next to Lovett’s familiar presence.

Jon might not have much, but at least for this one weekend a year, he has Lovett.

 

 

_“Are you nervous?” Lovett asks into his shoulder, mouth brushing against the skin lightly._

_“No,” Jon says honestly._

_“We're getting married — shouldn't you be?”_

_“Are you?”_

_Lovett, predictably, ignores the question. “What if I annoy you too much?”_

_“It's been a while, I don't think_ now _is the time to worry about that.”_

_Lovett makes a small noise in the back of his throat. “If you're sure.”_

_“I'll take my chances,” Jon promises. “Til death do us part or whatever.”_

_Lovett’s quiet for a minute and as Jon's about to reach over and turn off his bedside lamp, he asks: “did you get the glass for tomorrow?”_

_Jon sits straight up, bedsheet pooling around his belly. “The glass to step on? That glass? That was_ your _fucking job.”_

_He realizes in the next beat that Lovett’s giggling quietly — the quiet, hiccuping laugh he does when he's nervous about how a joke is going to land. “Are you sure that won't get annoying?”_

_Jon sighs heavily, heart pounding. “Asshole.”_

_“That's why you love me,” Lovett says smugly, putting an arm over his shoulder as Jon settles back down next to him._

_“I love you,” Jon repeats, putting a gentle hand on his stomach and leaning in to kiss him._

 

 

They repeat the horrifically awkward process in Atlanta, after they've rushed between terminals to catch the connection and somehow made time for Lovett to stop and get coffee.

Jon puts his bag up first and looks at Lovett for a moment.

“Well if you're so determined—” Lovett shoves his rolling suitcase towards him, only looking a little remorseful when the handle hits Jon's side “—to be so goddamned chivalrous.”

“Feel free to get it up there yourself on the way back,” Jon says after he’s manhandled Lovett’s suitcase into place, giving a small smile to the man waiting behind him. Lovett doesn’t give a fucking inch, making Jon clamber over his legs to reach the middle seat.

Lovett just ignores him and pulls out the inflight magazine. Jon puts in his headphones, tightens his seatbelt over his hips, and only half-heartedly hopes their plane won't go down over the panhandle.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for hanging in there, everyone! Your comments are inspiring and motivating and I adore you all. As always, I can't stress how fake this is and how secret this needs to stay. xo

Jon could have guessed — when their plane touches down in Miami, Lovett doesn’t make a move to get his suitcase, waiting expectantly as Jon hauls it down for him.

“You could at least make an effort.”

“Why else would I have brought my handsome husband along?” Lovett replies flippantly, but he waits in the aisle for Jon to get his suitcase down before winding his way off the plane, thanking the attendants as they leave. _Husband, husband, husband_ chants a traitorous voice in the back of Jon’s head. At least it's something.

He can’t pinpoint when it happens, but somewhere between passing the Au Bon Pain and when they spot Fran scanning the arriving passengers, Lovett drops his shoulders and affixes a smile, stands up a little straighter.

“Don’t look so constipated,” he hisses to Jon as they wade into the sea of people waiting, tugging their bags behind them. “It’s just my parents.”

“I don’t think _I’m_ the one that’s stressed here,” Jon retorts under his breath.

“Hi! Hi!” Before Jon can move, he’s wrapped up in a tight hug. “You two made it!”

“He almost left me at home,” Jon says before he can stop himself as Fran lets him go and he steps back to let her embrace Lovett. They laugh, Lovett glares.

“It’s good to see you,” Robert assures him, giving Jon a quick hug, complete with a slap on the back. “It’s been too long.”

“It’s good to see you too.” Jon puts a hand on his shoulder, surveying him. He looks older than the last time Jon saw him, a little greyer. “It’s been a while, yeah. Sorry I'm never around when Jon calls — I know he likes to do it when he's running errands." Jon has no idea if that's still true or not, but the way Robert laughs fondly makes him feel a little better.

"We parked this way, come on." As Robert leads the way out of the airport, Jon looks back to see Lovett with an arm around Fran's waist. He's talking quietly, leaned in to hear her over the bustle of the airport. There's a knot of dread curling in Jon's stomach and he still feels nauseous from the flight, but the smile on Lovett's face makes the exhausting day worth it. He has to look away.

"A minivan, guys? Really?" Lovett looks horrified when they come to a stop by the car. "Could you be more of a Florida stereotype?"

"It's actually very convenient and we like it," Fran informs him. "But don't worry, we still have our other cars, we just drove it for your bags. You won't have to be seen in this one."

"Thank god," Lovett says loudly, passing his bag to Jon to load in the back and sliding the door back. "There should be a plague on minivans. A scourge. What’s that movie called? The Purge? There should be a purge on minivans."

"Sure thing, sweetheart," Fran says reassuringly, twisting around so she can see them as Robert guides the car out of the lot. She seems content to just look at them for a minute, study Lovett’s face. Then she looks back towards Jon. "Jon, we talk to Jonathan all the time, but tell us how everything's going."

"Don't you trust me?" Lovett says, affronted. "He's great. He's Jon Favreau, always comes out on top." It's almost a little too pointed and Jon knocks their knees together gently.

"Good, good," Jon starts, scrambling a little. Fuck, he should have prepared more. Should have planned some stock answers or...fuck, something. "It's pretty much just...regular life, you know, our usual."

"Jonathan says Leo's still doing well."

"He and Pundit keep each other young," Lovett interrupts.

Lovett's interruption cuts through his focus. "I — yes, he's fine." It's too dark for Jon to read Lovett's expression, just catching his face in snatches of streetlight as the car falls into silence. "I started — _we_ started going to this new dog park and they really like it a lot."

"You should have brought them with you," Robert says, glancing over his shoulder to merge lanes.

"Next time," Lovett says and Jon makes a noise of agreement. He turns to look out the window as the conversation continues. He feels half a step behind in their conversation, off balance and uncertain, and his head's starting to pound. The pill he popped in LAX is wearing off. The landscape passes in a blur of hazy streetlight and shadowy palm trees, fields of waving grasses iridescent against the navy blue sky. He jumps when Lovett's hand slides into his own, warm and firm. He nearly pulls away in shock before remembering Fran's still turned in her seat to watch them. "Hey," Lovett says, voice soft. "We're almost here."

"Yeah...yeah, okay." He scrambles out of the car when it comes to a stop in front of the Lovetts’ stucco ranch. They grab their bags and head into the house.

Lovett pauses on the doorway, waiting a beat for his parents to get further in the house, ostensibly giving them time to disarm the alarm and turn on the lights. "Be a better actor," he hisses. "You looked fucking panicked when I touched you."

"I'm doing my best," Jon snaps back quietly. Lovett makes a face that says he doesn't believe him, but steps over the threshold anyway.

The house is quiet and still around them, table lamps snapping on as Fran moves around the room. Robert turns on the kitchen light and begins boiling water for tea. It's a dance of domesticity, habit formed by decades together.

“Steph isn't here,” Fran tells Jon. “I mean, I'm sure Jonathan told you, but you two can choose your bedroom if you like.”

Jon almost stops, bewildered. How can she — she doesn't know. Then his brain puts it together. Not separate rooms, _right_. “Our uh, regular room is fine.”

“Don't be silly, Mom,” Lovett says, leading the way down the hall. “I know better than to touch her bedroom. We'll stay in my room. Not that it's even hers,” he mutters to himself, “we've never lived here.”

They drag their suitcases into the back of the house, crowding into the room mostly filled by the queen sized bed. There's a dresser set parallel to the bed and when Jon looks over, his own exhausted reflection stares back at him. Lovett drops his bag on the left side of the bed, claiming his space while Jon shuffles around to the other side. He sets his suitcase down on the window seat and stands for a minute, shifting his weight and weighing his words.

“I'm going to go sleep in the other bedroom. Since Steph isn’t here.” Jon finally says quietly. He doesn't need to be quiet — the guest bedrooms are across the hall from each other, on the other side of the house from the master suite, but he can hear Lovett’s parents in the kitchen and their proximity makes him feel jumpy. “I’ll just leave my stuff in here, so Fran doesn’t notice.”

“Okay.” Lovett’s collapsed on the bed fully dressed, an arm thrown over his eyes. “Pull down the covers on your side though, so it looks slept in. And you better make up the other bed in the morning.”

“I know.”

“Okay.”

Jon leaves him there after tugging down the right side of the bedspread. Lovett will starfish across the bed anyway; he doesn’t put too much effort into making it look slept in. The room across the hall is dark and he crawls under the covers, leaving the lights off. It’s still 7pm on the West Coast, far too early to be in bed, so he pulls up Twitter, stretching out.

Twitter’s a cesspool of wrong opinions and overwrought takes; he’s barely processing the words on the screen. He can picture Lovett so clearly in the other room: probably on Twitter too, lying on his stomach, head propped on the pillow. Maybe his shirt got rucked up around his waist when he twisted over — Jon used to tell his mood by whether or not he fixed it. “Did you see Trump’s stupid, fucking—” he’d huff, angrily adjusting the hem to meet the top of his jeans, like the secret to defeating 45 was an armor of clothing. Jon preferred the other times, when he’d come in from letting the dogs out to find Lovett sprawled on top of the covers, the bottom of his shirt revealing a sliver of skin. “Can you believe how boring the internet is tonight?” He’d ask, faux-outrage clear in his voice, not even protesting when Jon would curl up next to him, throwing an arm over him and cuddling in close.

He wonders what would happen now, if he went in. Maybe he’d find Lovett asleep, mouth slightly open, snoring lightly. He’d slip right next to him, leaning into that familiar warmth. It’s easy enough to picture himself taking his spot next to Lovett, his body pressed against Jon’s back, an arm around his waist.

At some point, thinking about Lovett, he falls asleep.

 

When Jon wakes up, he makes the bed quickly and triple checks for any giveaway wrinkles before stealing into Lovett’s room. Lovett’s passed out, an arm hanging out from under the duvet. Jon quietly grabs his workout clothes from his suitcase, strips right in the room and pulls on his running shorts. The humidity hits him like a brick wall when he shuts the door behind him. Still, he’s anxious to get rid of the energy burning beneath his skin and curses suburban Florida's lack of sidewalks for all 4.7 miles. The door chime alerts the house to his presence when he returns, shirt soaked through and clinging to his body, no matter how many times he pulls the fabric away.

Lovett's standing by the table, still in his pajamas and eating a bowl of cereal. "Run much?"

"It's so—" Jon takes a long drink of water "—humid out there, Jesus."

"I can see." Lovett looks him up and down so blatantly, Jon feels prickly under his gaze.  "It's what you get for going for a run at one in the afternoon in Florida."

“It’s not like LA.” He feels too big for his skin with Lovett watching him so closely, feels off-balance in this vaguely familiar space.

“Could’ve invited me, you know.”

“You were asleep when I left.”

“Well maybe I wanted to go for a run.”

He’s forgotten how to do this dance with Lovett, the rhythm of their back and forth. He parries too late, a step behind. “You don’t run.” As soon as the words leave his mouth, he realizes that might not be true. There’s an empty space in his knowledge of Lovett now, a gap where he used to know every facet of their lives together.

Lovett calmly takes another bite of cereal. “Maybe I wanted to.”

“You can go with me tomorrow.”

“Hmm, no thanks.”

Jon laughs a little, but he think it might be out of sheer relief. “Okay.” As his heart rate continues to climb back to normal, he notices Fran in the corner flicking through the paper. For half a beat, he considers stepping closer to Lovett, kissing him hello to really sell their act. But then reality sinks back in. “I’m going to go shower,” he says.

“Don’t drown.” Lovett tells him.

“I’ll try not to.” Jon says cheerfully. It feels more performative now in front of Fran.

“I’m headed to the grocery store. Do you need anything?” Fran calls before he can escape.

He shoots her a smile. “I’m good, thank you.”

“You might need more cereal, Mom,” Lovett says, mouth full.

When he comes back, wet hair soaking the neck of his t-shirt, Lovett’s nowhere to be found. Robert's out...golfing, he thinks, and Fran must be at the store. The house is empty and quiet around him. He feels unsettled and pours a cup of coffee just to have something to do. The sliding door out to the pool is cracked, so he pulls it open, stepping out into the damp heat. Lovett’s reclining on a pool float in a t-shirt and swim trunks, sunglasses on, and the brim of his hat pulled low over his face.

“What the fuck.” He gets a weird jolt of satisfaction when Lovett jerks at the sound of his voice, startled. “I was gone for like, fifteen minutes. Did you get a personality transplant?” He takes a seat at the edge of the pool, setting his feet in the water. “This is weird. You usually don’t like water.”

“I like pools,” Lovett says, sounding put out.

“You do not.”

"I don't get enough Vitamin D."

"We — you — live in California!"

Lovett peers at him over the top of his sunglasses. "That requires leaving the house."

“My apartment has a pool,” Jon offers, despite the fact that Lovett’s never been over to his new place. He thinks he’d rather keep it that way.

“Ew,” Lovett tips a toe in the water, “other people.”

“Jesus, you’re impossible.”

Lovett sighs. “I'm bored. Florida is boring. Is there beer in the house? Isn’t there an abnormally high rate of alcoholism here? I can understand why.”

“It’s not even 3pm.” A car door slams in the garage.

“That's what I'm saying. I could drink right now out of sheer boredom. Is this why people listen to audiobooks?”

“I’m gonna go help your mom,” Jon says, ignoring him.

“Suck up.” Lovett replies, tugging his baseball cap back over his eyes. “They already like you. Fucking golden boy.”

Jon ignores that too.

Fran’s unloading groceries when he slips back into the kitchen. “Do you need a hand?” He asks, reaching for a bag before she answers.

“Thanks, honey.” They navigate around each other for a few minutes in comfortable silence. "Oh," Fran reaches over to a pile of paper on the counter, pulls out a folded newspaper. "I ran across this the other day, thought you and Jon might want to see it."

He takes it from her, smoothing out the fold. It's a long article. He skims down the text and stops when he finds the paragraph he's anticipating:

 _Favreau and Lovett, co-hosts of Crooked Media’s top-rated show_ Pod Save America _, announced their elopement late November of 2016, just before announcing the launch of their company, which has grown to a multiple six-figure empire._

 _“Your Monday pod hosts have some news,” Favreau elaborated on their show_ Keepin’ It 1600 _, predecessor of_ Pod Save America _under The Ringer. “Not Tommy...Lovett and I.” Lovett added: “we had to do something to fix this awful [expletive] month.” “So we got married!” “Before Donald Trump can take our [expletive] [expletive] rights away. Shoutout to the Los Angeles County Courthouse for squeezing us in after Wisconsin and Pennsylvania put our [expletive] future in jeopardy.”_

_Public reaction was overwhelmingly positive, even generating a supportive tweet from President Obama to the two, and their listenership spiked to new levels after the announcement._

Pod Save America _is still going strong under the Crooked Media umbrella with a reported three million listeners per episode. The show is now co-hosted by Favreau, Vietor, Pfeiffer, and former White House Deputy Chief of Staff Alyssa Mastromonaco. Lovett retired his co-hosting duties in 2019 to focus on his solo show_ Lovett or Leave It _, also under the Crooked brand, and pursue other creative ventures._

Fran's still looking at him, beaming and proud. The guilt sinks back back into his stomach and he smiles weakly at her.

“It makes it real to see it in the news like this. That’s cool.”

She sets a hand on his shoulder. “You two and Tommy have made something amazing together, you know? We’re proud of you. I know Jonathan doesn’t,” she makes a face, “always understand that. But we are, both of us.” She squeezes his shoulder, lets go.

Jon clears his throat. It feels like it’s made of sandpaper. “Thank you.”

“We’re glad to see you again,” she says. “A full year is too long.” He doesn’t know what to say, lets her pull him into a hug, holds her close for a minute.

“You guys should move out to California,” he teases her gently when she lets go. “It's just as sunny and there are fewer hurricanes.”

“We’ll move out when there are grandbabies,” she retorts and Jon freezes. “I’m going to want to be close enough to spoil them. We’re thinking about coming out for your triathlon though.”

Jon can’t feel his fingers. Maybe he’s having a stroke. Or hallucinating. He definitely hallucinated that. “What?”

“Jonathan told us about your training. When is it again?”

There’s a chance time is moving in slow motion. He should be able to see dust motes drifting through the air behind Fran as she speaks. “Uh, early spring,” he improvises wildly. “It’s another like, six months.”

“Good for you, honey. Get us exact dates and we’ll come cheer you on. It would be good to see your parents again.”

He forces a smile. “Will do. I’m going to go check on Jon.” He pulls back open the sliding door, maybe a little too violently given the way it clatters in the track, and stomps out to the pool. He turns to make sure the door is completely closed and notices his hands are shaking as he checks the seal. “Jon.”

“Huh?” Lovett looks up from his phone where he’s still floating in the middle of the pool.

“You told your parents I’m doing a triathlon?” He keeps his voice pitched low and drops his shoulders, trying to look less tense in case Fran’s looking out from the kitchen as he toes the edge of the water. “When I’m not even doing a tri?”

“A ‘tri’,” Lovett scoffs. “Listen to you, a fucking natural. Besides I told you’d I’d said some random shit. You said you’d go along with it. So go along with it.”

“But _why_?” Jon persists, ignoring the fact that he sounds whiny.

Lovett shrugs. “I think I needed a reason why you weren’t home when I called.”

He could cheerfully strangle him, right now. Or if his floatie were a few feet closer, Jon would upend the whole damn thing, phone and all. “But...I’m the one fielding inquiries about babies and what date my fake triathlon is because they might come to visit, while you’re out here floating in the fucking pool.”

“There’s not even anything good on Twitter, so don’t pretend you’re the only one suffering.”

“This is my _real life_ , Jon. And your parents have this fake idea of…” he gestures broadly, “of what our life looks like!”

“That’s pretty high talk from the guy who got to _retain_ his life. You kept your fucking life in the divorce so don’t tell me about how this impacts your ‘real life.’ It’s my ‘real life’ too or whatever bullshit you want to say.”

 _You left me_ , Jon wants to hurl in his face, wants to scream at him, but god, this isn’t the time. Or the place. “I’m not having this conversation with you right now.”

“Good, I’m not having it with you ever.”

“Fine.”

“Fine. Go get into a Twitter fight or something, god. Take it out on someone else.”

Jon doesn’t know what to say to that, just stands there fuming for a minute. He goes back inside, shutting the door more carefully, and gives Fran a small smile. He slips into the bedroom — Lovett’s room, really — taking a seat on the bed. The house feels too small and he’s antsy, turning his phone over and over in his hands. The walls feel like they’re closing in on him. He takes a deep breath, lies back on the bed, Fran’s words sitting like a weight on his chest.

 

 

_“So,” he starts, clasping his hands in front of him. The angle’s off and he drops his hands back to the desk. A siren echoes down La Cienega and he has to wait until it passes to continue. “Lovett won’t be working out of the office anymore.” There’s a minute of stunned silence after his announcement, but Elijah’s the only one who really looks shocked. Jon wishes he could feel shock too, could feel anything besides this bone-deep weariness. He gives them all another minute to process. Tanya’s keeping her face carefully neutral, Sarah has her arms crossed.  “He’ll still be doing his show and we’ll bring on another co-host for the main pod.”_

_Dan’s standing in the corner, watching somberly. Everyone’s here. Everyone except for Lovett. The entire office has turned to face him and Jon wants to shift under their attention but holds himself in place._

_“He’s still a stakeholder in the company and 33% owner and he’ll be consulted on major business decisions but...we’ve decided this is best. It isn’t anything...to do with any of you. This is uh, part of us,” he sighs a little and tries to ward off the burning behind his eyes, “this is part of us splitting up.” He has to take another minute. There wasn't much of a decision to make in the end. He’d practiced a speech, vaguely remembers a line about all of them still being a family. He can’t bring himself to say it. “I’m so sorry.”_

_Mukta makes a move like she might hug him, but he holds up a hand, keeping her away._

_Tommy steps up next, taking a seat next to him on the desk. “He’s coming by at lunch to say goodbye to all of you. Some of you will still be working with him at the shows—” he nods towards Tanya, Elijah “—but we know this is a big change for a lot of you and...wanted to give you that opportunity.”_

_The door to the office opens at 12:02. Elijah, predictably, is the first to move across the room to greet Lovett, but the rest of the staff isn’t far behind him. Jon looks up from his desk and stands slowly, following Dan and Tommy over to the entrance. He feels a little like a sulky puppy, trailing behind his friends like this. Lovett’s holding court with the staff, laughing with them and doling out side hugs. He gives Dan a quick hug, rocking up onto his toes for a beat, and lets Tommy clap a hand on his shoulder, holding him firmly. Jon stands back, pushing his hands into his pockets._

_Lovett laughs loudly in response to something Brian says. He must catch sight of Jon, he_ must _. Their eyes lock for a minute, but then Lovett’s gaze slides over him like he’s not even there._

_Jon swallows hard. It’s just logistics, this part — that’s all they’re down to: logistics._

 

 

Since it's just the four of them — no Steph and her family, no dogs darting between their ankles —  there's room to spread out across the table at dinner. Fran and Lovett each take an end and Jon sits across from Robert. He focuses on Robert as they talk, asking about his practice. Lovett doesn't jump in much, holding himself back from the conversation.

“How does the financial backing of the company look?” Robert asks. “What are they saying about the podcasting bubble?”

Jon can’t even count the number of times they’ve had this discussion — the contracts are one of the only safe topics when it comes to the company — but he swallows his chicken and answers anyway. “They’re pretty happy with it. Our advertising numbers still look good. Our live show traffic isn’t quite as quick as it was in the beginning but it’s steady. Merch sales are still good.”

“That’s good. What’s the contract with your biggest backers? What kind of freedom do you have with that?”

“Uh…” Jon loses his train of thought when he glances over at Lovett, who’s frowning and picking at his salad. “Uh, our contracts are pretty much the same. There hasn’t been much reason to change them.”

“How would the contracts with the backers change the company ops?” Fran jumps in, directing her question at Robert.

Robert starts to answer her — “When I renegotiated that contract for Verizon's corporate offices” — and Jon tunes them out. He doesn’t know _what_ makes him take that first move exactly, but he reaches out to take Lovett’s left hand where it’s sitting on the table. Lovett’s wedding ring bumps against his fingers as their hands slide together. Jon can feel his shoulders tensing and forces himself to take a breath. He can’t pin down the undercurrent of Lovett’s mood, hasn't really seen him since their fight earlier, but he hopes his grip is reassuring nonetheless.

Lovett looks up at him slowly. His fork stills in his other hand. Jon’s heart is pounding so hard he wonders if Lovett can feel it in the places where their hands fit together, can hear it in his own ears. The conversation’s still happening around them, but nothing matters except for the moment when Lovett turns his hand over, palm up, and carefully intertwines their fingers together.

 

_“So, we're getting married!” Jon finishes, reaching over to take Lovett’s hand tightly. The sun feels too hot, radiating into his dark shirt and he scoots forward on the couch until he’s under the porch shade._

_Jon's mom laughs delightedly. “We've been waiting!”_

_“Mom!”_

_“I've been waiting for him to make a move too,” Lovett tells her conspiratorially and Jon groans. “I found the ring in the dresser_ months _ago.”_

_“Congratulations.” His dad stands and pulls him into a hug. “We expected it but,” he wipes discreetly at an eye behind his sunglasses, “this is amazing.”_

_“I mean, Trump being President isn't the best, but,” Lovett starts._

_“Stop,” Jon tells him through his laughter, “stop trying to ruin this and bring us down.”_

_Lovett leans into him, nestling in. “Sorry. You’re the best part of this Presidency already.”_

_“I better be,” Jon says, then leans in to kiss him just because he can, his arm around Lovett’s shoulders, holding him close. He feels Lovett’s chin tip against his own, exhales softly into the kiss, wonders again at how natural the movement is. He can’t remember — doesn’t want to remember — a time when this wasn’t his reality._

_When they break apart, Jon looks over to see his mom tearing up. “Aw, Mom.”_

_“I’m sorry!” She sits back down, sniffling. “We’re very glad to have you as part of the family, Lovett.” Lovett reaches across the wicker table between them and takes her hand too. “And just so you know—”_

_“Uh oh.”_

_“Hush, Jon. Just so you know,” she leans forward towards Lovett, “I mean it, you’re a part of this family, Jon. You’re always welcome here, even if Jon isn’t with you.”_

_“Thank you,” Lovett says thickly. “I...that means a lot.”_

_“You just have to show up, okay? No explanation or anything necessary. Even if uh...something happens between you two, you’re always welcome.” Jon’s mom laughs a little. “Suitcase in hand, Pundit, Leo, Jon or no Jon, you can come.”_

_“Thank you,” Lovett says again, wiping at his eyes._

_“Didn’t cry at my proposal, but cries at my mom.” Jon complains lightly. He pulls Lovett tighter into his side, kisses one of the curls furling outward at his temple._

_“If I’m ever not at the office one day,” Lovett tells him, teary-eyed and squinting into the sunlight, “I’m probably here hanging out with your mom. I don’t need to marry you for your money, you know. Just your family.”_

_Jon shrugs, “You can have them.”_

_“What's yours is mine?” Lovett settles a hand on his thigh._

_“Leo's mine; you've already claimed the rest.”_

 

They clear the table together, shoulders brushing as they move around the small kitchen. Lovett loads the dishwasher and Jon puts away the leftovers and it’s easy to orbit each other like this.

“Did you — are you okay?” Jon asks hesitantly when he’s scrubbing pots at the sink, hands wrinkled from the hot water. “At dinner, I…” He trails off.

Lovett looks up from where he’s twisting the dish towel in his hands. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” Jon passes him a pot to dry. “I —” He stops himself. The key to Lovett is giving him enough space to collect himself, time to let him sift through all the thoughts to distill down what he really wants to say. Somehow, Jon’s forgotten.

“Yeah.” He laughs a little. “You know, Spencer and Ryan told me I was crazy for this. For, for doing this.”

“Tommy told me the same.”

Lovett’s turning the dry pot over and over in his hands. “I knew you’d get him. In the...I knew he’d be yours.”

“I didn’t mean, we didn’t want —”

Lovett smiles tightly. “I know. Iowa bros forever, right?”

“Chicago,” Jon corrects automatically, then wishes he hadn’t.

“Yeah,” Lovett says quietly. “Chicago.”

“I’m —” Jon doesn’t know what he’s going to say next. ‘ _Use I statements_ ’, their therapist had told them once, ‘ _don’t infer or assume how the other person’s feeling_ ’. The problem with that is Jon’s never not known how Lovett felt, has always been attuned to his presence. He orients himself to Lovett. Or he had.

“I’m going to go sit with my parents,” Lovett says, cutting him off. Conversation over. “You can take care of the counters?” He’s walking backward before he’s finished the sentence.

“Yeah, I’ll finish up.”

Lovett nods once, jerkily. “Okay.”

 

Jon finishes scrubbing the counters, puts away a few stray dishes. He feels restless again, at loose ends. He grabs his iPad and settles down at the kitchen table. It feels like years since they left LA. The news cycle doesn’t move as fast anymore, since the Trump era, but he pulls up Twitter anyway.

It’s easy enough to start piecing together the outline for their Monday show. He methodically types out the main bullet points, skims his emails for housekeeping notes. He sends a copy of the outline to Tommy, who immediately replies: _It’s Friday night. Have a beer._ And then a second message: _How’s it going_

Jon writes back: _Fine. Uneventful_. He doesn’t know what else to say.

Tommy just says, _Okay._

He’s finishing the outline when Lovett drops into the chair next to him. “I really tried to sit in there.” He hisses to Jon quietly. “Nice family time or whatever because ‘I never come visit’ but then fucking Fox News gets turned on. And I’m not sitting through that shit. No wonder I never come here.” He looks at Jon. “What are you working on?”

Jon spins the iPad so he can see the screen. “Outline for Monday.”

“I forgot how fucking obsessive you get about this. Such a workaholic. It’s uh...easier to forget now that I’m not in the office.” Lovett pulls it closer so he can read the words. Maybe Jon isn’t the only one who needs reading glasses now. “You forgot to make a note to plug _Lovett or Leave It_.”

“I don’t know the guests yet. Tanya usually gets me that on Monday morning. Or Thursday, depending on how far behind you are.”

“I’m never _Thursday_ behind.” Lovett’s laughing as he says it because they both know it’s categorically untrue. “Monday morning behind, maybe.”

“Wednesday evening behind, always.”

Lovett leans towards him, tilting the screen so they can both see as he carefully types: _JON TALKS ABOUT HOW GREAT LOLI IS. Ep with Kristen Bell, Nicole Cliffe, Ava DuVernay._

“Big gets,” Jon says.

Lovett grins at him, wide and loose. Comfortable, Jon would say. “We’re a juggernaut.”

“Your show’s four years old now. It’s established — an institution. I’m not sure you can keep saying that.”

“I absolutely can.” Lovett scrolls down the outline. “You should move the gerrymandering discussion before the —” He makes the changes as he thinks out loud. “You should…”

“Bookend it, yeah, you’re right.”

“You never used to take my advice when I _hosted_ the show.”

“You didn’t look at the outline before the show!”

Lovett shrugs. “That’s fair.”

Jon settles back in his seat to watch, crossing his arms. “Any other changes, you media mogul?”

Lovett hums happily, peering closer. “Now that you mention it, yes.”

“Edit away,” Jon tells him. He knows he’s sacrificing whatever plans he had for the show but it’s worth it when Lovett pulls the iPad close and starts typing.

 

 

_"Lovett, are you here?” Jon shuts the garage door behind himself. The foyer lights are on and he kicks off his shoes before moving deeper into the house. Pundit and Leo skid across the floor towards him. “Hi puppies. Jon?”_

_“Kitchen!”_

_“Hey, baby.” Lovett turns to Jon automatically, leaning up for a kiss. “What's with the apron?”_

_Lovett smiles, shy. He shifts under Jon’s gaze, kicking a socked foot against the ground. “A present?” He's got one of Jon's grilling aprons over his worn Indivisible tee, drawstrings pulled around and tied in front._

_“Is it my birthday?” Jon pulls himself up onto the counter beside the stove, surveying the mess spread over the rest of the kitchen._

_Lovett scoffs a little. “I'd get you something better than this for your birthday. Like...a blow job or something.”_

_“Good to know, thanks.” He waits until Lovett’s finished stirring whatever’s in the bowl, laughing when he gets overzealous and flour flies up in his face. “So what are you making?”_

_Lovett shoos him off the counter before he turns on the stove. “I’m making you pancakes.”_

_“You’re making me_ pancakes _,” Jon repeats, disbelieving. “Is gluten allowed inside the Weho city limits? I think they might kick us out for this.”_

_“Surely our podcasting royalty status is worth something in this town.”_

_“Doubt it.” He watches as Lovett deftly pours a circle of batter onto the hot pan, waits to flip it until the edges start bubbling. He peeks under the pancake to make sure it’s done before he turns it and the little movement, the way he smiles proudly to himself when it lands, makes Jon cuddle in behind him. He hooks his chin over Lovett’s shoulder, bending down as they watch the pan together. “What’s the occasion?”_

_Lovett turns to face him, fiddling with the spatula in his hand. Jon keeps his hands looped around Lovett’s back, holding him close. “I know...that you do a lot. A lot that I don’t notice or appreciate. And you...put up with me — uh, not a lot of people do that. I know — I know,” he glares at Jon until Jon stops trying to interrupt, “I know we’re married and we have the company, but it’s been a long time together and I know I’m a lot.” He bites his lip, before saying quietly, “I don’t ever want to take that for granted.”_

 

 

Saturday passes in the same hazy way as Friday. Fran makes them breakfast and Lovett curls up on his chair, holding his cup of coffee. Jon eats until he’s too full, lies in the sunshine beside the pool until he’s too hot, and runs until he can’t breathe. He has to walk the last few blocks back to the house, nearly missing his turn in the setting sun.

“Go shower,” Lovett hisses when he walks in. “They’re taking us out for dinner.”

“I’ll hurry.” Jon promises. He’s not fast enough, because Lovett’s hammering on the door halfway through his shower and telling him to hurry. “I’m done,” he snaps a moment later, pulling the door open and clutching the towel around his waist. “Calm down.”

Lovett opens his mouth like he’s going to snark back, then sighs, closing it. “That’s fair.”

“I know.” Jon pushes past him into the bedroom. Lovett trails behind him. “Are you just going to — okay, that’s fine. Nothing you haven’t seen before, I guess.”

“What are you going to wear?” Lovett asks, bending over his suitcase. “I don’t think I brought...can I wear one of our shirts?”

“Do you still want to be speaking to your dad by the time we leave?” Jon turns away before he drops his towel and steps into his pants. “Because I think wearing a Crooked shirt to dinner is a pretty good way to change that.”

“I guess…” Lovett wiggles his way into a button down, then fiddles with the sleeves. “Are these even?”

Jon glances over. “Come here.” He pulls an undershirt over his head before reaching out for Lovett. He crowds close as Jon re-rolls his cuffs, fingers brushing along the soft skin of his forearm. “There, better?” They stand in each other’s space for a minute before Lovett takes a step back.

“Yeah, thanks.” He fidgets with one of the folds. “You look good, you know.” Lovett says, finally. “If I haven’t said that yet. You, uh...yeah.”

Jon barely has time to say “Thanks” before Lovett’s fleeing out the door.

Dinner passes without incident. Lovett has a rant about restaurant prices in Florida versus LA that makes everyone laugh, the food is good, and the conversation stays light.

When they get home, Jon quickly puts on his pajamas in Lovett’s bedroom before heading back to his own. There’s a quiet knock on the door a few minutes later.

“Yeah?” He says quietly and Lovett pokes his head through.

“I just uh...didn’t get a chance to say earlier: I’m sorry, about the triathlon thing. If uh, you’re still upset.” He shuffles a little in place, hanging onto the door. “I should have warned you but I didn’t remember and uh...that’s not fair.”

Jon nods slowly, processing. “I appreciate it. I know...I’ve said some stuff since...I get it.”

“Okay.” Lovett waves once, a quick flash of his hand. “Good night.”

“Night.” Jon watches the door close behind him.

 

He manages to roll out of bed on time with his alarm and gets ready in a stupor. He passed a Starbucks on his run yesterday, tries to picture it in his mind, gives up. Lovett’s still asleep when he grabs his clothes out of the bedroom, curled into a fetal position facing Jon’s side of the bed. He dresses quickly and leaves his pajamas in the bathroom, making a mental note to grab them later.

“Where’re you going?” Lovett asks when he’s fumbling his way out of the bathroom, double checking his hair in the mirror. His voice makes him jump. “You’re in a suit. You brought a suit? How did I not notice your suit?”

“Mass. Your mom gave me her car keys last night. There's a church —” he jerks a thumb over his shoulder; he hopes it’s in the right direction “ — and since there's time before our flight…”

“You don't go to church,” Lovett observes sleepily, leaning against the door jamb. He looks twelve: hair ruffled, glasses askew, arms crossed over his thin tee, and skinny legs sticking out of his gym shorts.

“I go now.”

“Ever since…”

“Yeah.”

“Like…”

“Since the — the first weekend.”

Lovett hums a little, deep in his throat. “I didn’t know.”

“You don’t know me anymore.” They watch each other for a minute in the shadowy hall.

“Guess not,” Lovett says softly and steps back into the bedroom, shutting the door behind him.

Jon likes routine. He likes Weho and his spots around the neighborhood. He likes the barista at his Starbucks that works Monday, Tuesday, and Friday mornings. He and Leo walk one route in the morning and the same route, but counterclockwise, in the evening. He eats at restaurants on the same stretch of Santa Monica and happily reheats the same leftovers for a week in a row.

He likes knowing what's coming next, knowing the next step. He’s 2,000 miles from home and the uncertainty from the weekend is lingering in the back of his mind. Even so, there’s a comfort in the rhythm of crossing himself in the doorway of the chapel, kissing the cross on his chest, genuflecting before sliding into the pew.

His thoughts are finally quiet here.

The hymns are familiar, the call-and-response the same as they are back home. The same as they've been for as long as he can remember.

He takes communion, bowing his head as the bread melts on his tongue. The wine burns a little going down, lingering as he moves back to his seat and kneels to pray. The noise of the chapel fades around him: pews creaking, the murmur of the priest at the altar, the whisper of the family behind him.

He closes his eyes and waits for guidance.

 

 

_Maybe he starts it. Maybe it’s his fault._

_He meets Lovett at the Tender Greens on Santa Monica. He’s nearly half an hour late, but in LA, anything under 15 minutes is on_ _time, so it’s relative_ _. There was traffic at the Beverly and a fender bender two cars ahead when he tried to cut across. Street parking had been impossible and he’d missed the turn to the garage. By the time he walks in, Lovett’s already waiting at a table, slouched down in the booth. Jon slides into the chair across from him._

_“Sorry I’m late.”_

_Lovett smiles at him, looking worn and tired. The night’s wearing them both thin. “It’s okay. Sponsor meeting run long?”_

_“Always.” Jon sips at the water in front of him. “You saw Tanya’s email about next week’s pre-show right?”_

_“The Ontario date? I already responded.”_

_“Must’ve missed it. I’ll check later.” Jon doesn’t want to talk about work. “Did you already order?”_

_Lovett gestures at the number in the middle of the table. “I think I know your order well enough by now.”_

_“So,” Jon leans forward, setting his elbows on the table. Lovett copies him, propping his chin on his hand, and tangles their ankles together. “I have some news.”_

_“We won the lottery?”_

_“We don’t need to win the lottery.”_

_“It’d be cool to have a couple million to start a school or something. Get some fucking Democrats elected, even.”_

_“That’s not my news.”_

_“Go on.”_

_“I arranged for us to go meet with that surrogate. The one we both liked?”_

_Lovett stays quiet, the noise of the restaurant bubbling around them. Jon’s suddenly nervous. “You set up a meeting with her?”_

_“That’s literally what I just said.”_

_“I was...clarifying. That you…” Lovett’s voice stays measured and controlled until he trails off. “That you did this.”_

_“Did what, exactly? I set up a meeting.”_

_“We talked about her_ once _. I didn’t say I wanted a meeting or to meet her or even that I wanted to do surrogacy.” Lovett stares down at the table, starts shredding his napkin. “I...we talked about this_ one _time. Yesterday. When did you even have time to set this up?”_

_“I just sent her an email.”_

_“You didn't even bother to CC me?”_

_“I —” Jon stares at him. “Are you kidding me right now?”_

_Lovett sits up straighter, pulling his feet away. “You make all these decisions without consulting me — telling me what room the nursery’s going to be —”_

_“I didn’t decide!” Jon protests. “I suggested.”_

_Lovett talks over him, getting louder: “—deciding how we're going to_ have our kids _— without even asking me! I wanted to talk about this more. I told you last night I wasn’t ready to make a decision. I mean —” He runs a hand through his hair. “Did it even occur to you that I might want to be involved?”_

_“No,” Jon says before he can think better of it._

_“No? It seriously didn’t — it didn’t even cross your mind that I might have an opinion?” He’s hissing across the table now, infuriated._

_“You_ always _have an opinion,” Jon snaps and Lovett recoils. “I thought it would be easier if I just —”_

_“Easier without me?”_

_“No.” Yes._

_“Fucking fantastic. I…” Lovett sighs, raises his hand in a shrug. “I don’t even fucking know, Jon. I wanted more time...I didn't want you to make decisions for me again.” He’s interrupted by the arrival of their food. “I want you to_ include _me. I want you to stop — for fuck’s sake, just_ stop _— doing that thing where you bring up a topic for the first goddamn time and then the next week we’re moving or buying a car that you chose — a minivan for kids we don’t even have yet — or, or, or where we’re going on vacation or whatever! We’re either partners in this or we’re not.”_

_“I don’t —” Jon starts, stung._

_“You_ do _. You do it all the time.” Lovett flags down a waiter. “Can I get a box?” They survey each other silently until Lovett’s food returns, neatly packaged. “I’m not hungry anymore. I’m going home, I’ll see you later.”_

_“What do you want me to do about the meeting?” Jon asks him as he stands, tugging at his jeans._

_Lovett edges his way past Jon before he says, “Cancel it”._


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks to my amazing betas who whipped this chapter into shape. On a weird RPF boundary note, I specifically chose not to use Tim's baby's name here. Hopefully it doesn't trip anyone up.
> 
> Please don't share with anyone directly or tangentially related! xo

Lovett takes it upon himself to drag their bags out to the car. “I’m _providing_ ,” he insists, pulling Jon’s bag through the living room. “It has to be your suit that’s making this bag so heavy, right?”

Jon ignores the second sentence. “Like how you go to the grocery store and only buy mini ice cream cones and dog food?”

“It helps us survive, doesn’t it?” Lovett shouts back at him, fumbling for the car keys. The suitcase and his duffel are balancing a little precariously on the stairs out to the garage.

“Sure. The ice cream cones are absolute necessities.” Robert laughs next to him and he and Jon share a smile. It feels comfortable and easy, this moment between the three of them.

“Jon, honey?” Fran settles on the couch next to him, touches his elbow. “Could we talk?”

They have thirteen minutes until they have to leave for their flight. Jon checks his watch again. “What’s up?”

She cocks her head toward the pool and he follows her outside. He doesn’t know where his sunglasses are and has to squint a little in the sunlight. That will definitely have to be rectified before they land at LAX.

Fran crosses her arms, looking up at him. She looks...suspicious. Jon feels caught — like that time he kissed Lauren Dunnolly for the first time behind their high school gym, only to be found immediately by their chemistry teacher. “Is everything okay with you and Jonathan?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” He stops himself.

“I was just wondering,” she shrugs, “you didn’t seem as...happy this weekend. He seemed more guarded — and I mean, it’s Jonathan,” she adds quickly, “but more than usual and I just,” she takes a deep breath, “wanted to check in with you.”

“We’re okay,” Jon lies, waving a hand. “Um, some stuff came up recently but, you know...couple stuff.” _God, could he sound more like a teenager?_ “We’re figuring it out.”

“Is it —” She looks hesitant. He can see her...gathering her courage, maybe, before she presses forward. “Are there any issues — with the company? The surrogate? Are you still considering —”

Jon hesitates, looks past her, thinking quickly. “We just...haven’t been on the same page for a while. Disconnected, you know. But we’re working on it.” It's not entirely a lie.

Fran gets a little teary then, blinks rapidly before she says, “Good,” and pulls him into a longer, tighter hug. He lets her hold him as long and tight as she needs. “He loves you so much,” she says, muffled into his shoulder. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him.”

“He’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” Jon says and it’s the only part of the weekend that’s felt honest.

They say a quicker goodbye at the Miami airport, trading hugs all around. Robert tells them to call when they get home and Lovett reminds them, “it’s your turn to come visit me next.”

Fran laughs. “We'll see. You should do a show in Florida.”

Lovett wrinkles his nose. “We'll see.”

“I think it can be arranged,” Jon breaks in, laughing when Lovett aims an elbow for his ribs.

She kisses them both another time and Jon waits by their suitcases, watching as Robert tugs Lovett into another, final, hug. Lovett leans into the touch, holding on to his dad for a beat longer than usual, squeezes tight before he lets go.

“You ready?” He asks Jon, eyes bright.

“Yeah,” Jon passes him his bag. “Let's go home.”

Lovett turns to wave as they walk into the terminal, then takes Jon's hand as they cross through the automatic doors. “My mom's still watching,” he says and Jon doesn't point out they're already out of eyesight. His grip is warm and comfortable and familiar. It's easy to settle into.

They're strolling through the airport, searching idly for their gate when Lovett says softly, “You know…” He trails off and Jon gives him space to collect his thoughts — glances over to see him working his jaw like he's chewing over the words. “Sometimes I miss the like...us — me and my dad — before I was gay.”

There's a long beat.

“It wasn't perfect and like, obviously I was lying or uh, not being truthful, I guess,” he continues, turning so a businessman in jeans and a sports coat, phone pressed to his ear, can brush past them, “but uh...it wasn't a thing yet either. And that was just kind of nice.”

Jon can't think of what to say next. “He loves you, you know.”

Lovett snorts, leading the way over to a pair of empty seats. “Of course I know. Didn't you hear his toast at our wedding? Robert Lovett definitely didn't phone that one in. Also I'm charming, so.” He settles down in the minimally cushioned airport seat, pulls out his phone and plugs it into a battery pack he unearths in his bag, casual as anything. “But I still kiss boys — I even married one — so it's not the same.” He shrugs once, a quick, jerky movement. "Anyway, it was nice, then. I've been thinking about it lately."

“I’m uh…” Jon doesn’t know where he’s going with the sentence, lets it trail off.

“I can’t imagine — treating your kids differently.” Lovett says quietly, setting his phone face down on his lap as it charges. “I never would have...not with our kids.”

Jon inhales sharply at the thought. “I was never worried about that.”

Lovett shrugs a little. “I know. I was...a little.” It’s almost too painfully honest for Jon to hear in the stale air of the Miami airport. He shoots Jon a small smile. “We would have been good dads.”

Jon opens his mouth to respond, then the gate agent cuts across the PA, breaking the tension. “You would have given them anything they wanted and let them play too many video games.” He says lightly, switching tack.

“Well you wouldn’t learn,” Lovett protests. “It's like pulling fucking teeth to get you to even play Settlers of Catan, so clearly I would have needed someone for multiplayer games!”

Jon’s chest aches a little, thinking about this future. Maybe in another life he would have gotten that: the kids, the dogs, the house, the company, Lovett. “You just wanted to be the good cop. The fun dad.”

Lovett laughs, a little too loudly for the space. “Of course. I'm the one that buys mini ice cream cones, remember?”

God, Jon remembers, even when he wishes he didn't.

 

_“Hi, baby.” Lovett smirks, proud of his own joke. “You look good like this,” He sits next to him and puts a hand on his knee. He leans in to kiss him gently before propping his head on Jon’s shoulder, making faces at the baby cradled in his arms._

_“It’s all her,” Jon tells him, sliding his finger into the baby's tiny fist and letting her grip it tightly_

_“Mmm, disagree. Think it might be you too.”_

_“She’s so small,” Jon tells him unnecessarily, stroking his thumb across her fingers and watching how her mouth twitches a little in her sleep. He's curious what she's thinking, what she's dreaming about._

_“She might be the only good thing Tim’s ever done,” Lovett says loudly enough for him to hear, making their friends scattered around the room laugh. “She’s so cute.”_

_“Want to compare losing campaign strategies?” Tim shouts back and Lovett rolls his eyes, refocuses on the baby._

_“I’m too busy turning your baby girl into a liberal Democrat.”_

_“Shut your damn mouth and get away from my child, Jon Lovett.”_

_The baby starts to fuss a little at their raised voices and Jon sits up enough to rock her gently until she settles back down. “You're a natural,” Lovett says fondly, running a hand down his back._

_“Want to hold her?” Jon offers._

_Lovett smiles a little, pleased. “Sure.”_

_Jon leans in close to pass her over, settling the baby in the crook of Lovett’s elbow. Their arms brush as he transfers her weight. Even once she’s settled, he stays pressed in close, taking in the way Lovett's looking down at her. “You look good like this.”_

_Lovett bends his head over her, cradling the small bundle close to his chest. “She smells so good; I want one.” Lovett says, cupping her foot in the palm of his hand. “Let’s have a baby.”_

 

They're on the plane when Jon says, "You know, if you wanted to tell them we're splitting up, I think that's probably more believable after this weekend." They’ve been quiet for too long — the plane’s reached cruising altitude and the silence is starting to make him itchy. The lack of conversation lets him linger on the facts they’re in a tin can going 600 miles an hour and that the FAA is still trying to make up for depleted resources during the Trump administration.

Lovett hums, not even looking up from where he's tapping through the wifi connection screens on his phone. “Doubt it.”

“What, I’m too good of a fake husband for you?”

“More like I’m too good of a liar and also both my parents love you and would likely refuse to believe it. But noted anyway.”

“Just keep me posted,” Jon says, aiming for casual. It gets quiet again. “Things seemed better with your dad,” Jon tries. “You seemed, uh, better there at the end.”

“It’s a good formula: short visits, surface discussions, and everyone stays happy.”

“Lovett, come on.”

“Nope.” He pops the ‘p’. “We don’t all need to have our parents in our backyard like you do. It’s okay.” He sounds kind, but firm.

“Talk to me about something else then.”

Lovett turns to face him. He’s wearing his glasses and his hair’s sticking up against the headrest. “What about?”

“I don’t know.” Jon shrugs. “Anything. How’s your new pitch? The show you were piloting, right?”

He worries it’s the wrong thing to ask when Lovett looks down, fiddling with his headphone cord. “They, uh, picked it up.”

“ _What?_ ” Jon tries to turn to face Lovett more fully, gets trapped by the seat belt cinched around his hips. He fights down a moment of panic until he can loosen it. Lovett waits him out, lets him get settled back in his seat. “Really?”

Lovett gives Jon a little smile. “Yeah. Let’s hope it goes better than _1600 Penn_.”

“A cult classic,” Jon tells him loyally and he laughs.

“Tell the critics. I meant to tell you before. I wasn’t like...keeping it from you. It just hadn't come up, you know, before this. And I’m not ready to tell my parents yet.” He waves a hand, encompassing their trip.

“We should go out and celebrate. Bring Tommy and Spencer and —”

Lovett hesitates for a long moment. “Uh, we already did.” He makes a face. “Like, two days before we left. Dinner and drinks.”

“Oh. Yeah, of course.” Jon laughs a little into the awkwardness. “Sorry. Uh, Tommy didn’t mention it.”

Lovett keeps twisting the headphone cord around his finger. “It's okay. I know it's like...weird timing. And he didn’t — I don’t know how much you talk.”

“I would have gone with ‘weird situation’ personally.” Jon jokes.

“Well, which one of us was Obama's best speechwriter?”

Jon doesn't have a response for that, just laughs again, and waits for the awkward moment to pass.

 

They follow each other out of the airport, winding their way through the perpetual construction of LAX. Lovett’s shouldered his duffel and it’s bumping along his shin with every step he takes. He’s not complaining yet, just huffing with annoyance.

“Do you want to stop at Starbucks?” Jon asks Lovett as they pass through the terminal.

He shakes his head. “Nah, just want to get home.”

“Okay.” They take the escalator up to the Uber point, skirting the tourists craning to look out the window as they emerge into the dusk. Jon pulls out his phone. “Called a ride.”

Lovett leans against the wall, tugging out his phone too. “I could have...okay, whatever. Fine.” Then he glances up. “To my house right?”

“Yeah, my car’s there.”

“Right.” He says absently, thumbing something on his screen.

Jon checks his email while they wait. “Oh, did I forward you — the thing with the vet?”

“What thing with the vet?” Lovett sticks his phone in his pocket, watches Jon with his arms crossed. “Like Army?”

“I made an appointment for the dogs to go to the vet? It’s their yearly check-up or whatever.”

“You didn’t tell me.” He’s verging on snappish and Jon can feel himself tense in response.

“I meant to forward it to you. I wasn’t like...doing it on purpose.”

“You didn’t even send me a damn Google calendar invite —”

Jon talks over him, trying to cut him off. “They still have them under both our names, so when they called me to remind me...I just figured I could take both of them.”

“You thought you could take Pundit to the vet?” Lovett repeats incredulously. “Without even asking me?”

“ _Yes_. And I'm telling you now!”

Lovett scoffs a little. “Unbelievable.”

“Are you mad right now?”

“That you’re out here making decisions for my dog? Yes. Also, asking isn't the same as telling — you might want to make a note.”

“Seriously?” Jon’s too tired for this, is hyper-conscious of the stranger standing next to him who’s clearly listening intently to their conversation. He rubs a hand across his forehead. “Why is this a big deal?”

“I’m a damn adult, Jon. I’ve been taking care of my dog for several years on my own and I don’t need you—” He takes a breath and exhales loudly. “I can take Pundit to the vet.”

“It’s not like — she can just come with me and Leo. It’s not a big deal.”

“No.”

A car pulls up and Jon gestures toward it. He doesn’t say anything else and Lovett stalks toward the driver. He passes his bag over and takes the front seat, shutting the door before Jon can even react. Jon's seen Lovett shutdown like this toward other people. He's rarely had it aimed at him.

Jon takes the seat behind Lovett’s. The driver verifies Lovett’s address and turns on some music in the background, then falls silent. “I don’t get why you’re upset.”

“I told you, I don’t need you making decisions for my dog.”

“Used to be our dogs.”

“Fucking — I can take my dog to the goddamn vet on my own, Jon.” Lovett’s voice is sharp and biting, piercing in the otherwise quiet car. “I can’t believe you’re still — _still_ making decisions _for me_.”

Jon can't leave well enough alone, digs in even farther. “I was _trying_ to do something nice.”

“Don't bother.” Lovett says sharply, then mutters churlishly “We got divorced for a reason.”

It's still a little strange to hear it said so casually. “Fine, _fine_.” Lovett can’t even see him but Jon throws up his hands anyway. “You can deal with it.”

“Good.” Jon can just see the slice of his face when Lovett turns to look out the window, his jaw set. The rest of the half-hour ride is silent, broken only by the narration of the GPS and the steady rotation of Top 40s songs. When they arrive, pulling up outside of Lovett’s house, Lovett helps tug his suitcase out of the back of the car and says shortly to Jon, “See you later.” He marches up the drive and shuts the door without looking back.

 

_“I hate this,” Lovett says miserably. He's hunched over on the couch, staring past the brown stain on the rug. “I hate this cycle.”_

_“What cycle?” Jon isn’t ready to be emotional yet, clenching his teeth together as Lovett looks up. Jon doesn’t move from his spot leaning against the wall, arms crossed. He’s too tired for this — can’t even remember what specifically they’re fighting about today. Ultimately, it’s still the same fight. “What are you even talking about?”_

_“You know what I’m talking about.” Lovett looks at him expectantly, but Jon makes a gesture for him to elaborate. “I call you on something and if you aren’t immediately forgiven, you pout, like a child, and_ _you freeze me out. I’m on the outs until you deign to forgive me and let me back into the inner circle.”_

_“That's ridiculous. You’re my husband — I couldn’t freeze you out if I wanted to. That’s stupid.”_

_Lovett scoffs. “Bullshit. You don’t ask about my day, you don’t tell me when you’re coming home, you don’t try to make plans with me or try to discuss this at all! You just leave me to figure it out on my own. If I don’t immediately get over whatever shitty thing you’ve said, I’m just out here on my own.”_

_“Or —_ or _you could think about —” He’s proud of himself for keeping his voice cool and even, keeping his temper measured and under control._

 _“Fucking_ listen _to what I'm saying. This is just — literally proving my point! You’re shutting me out right now!”_

 _“I'm listening, I'm listening!” Jon can't help sighing under his breath: “_ Jesus. _”_

_“Don't be an asshole to me. Are you fucking — I don't want to keep having this fight with you! I don't want to keep going around in circles like this!” Lovett’s teary with frustration, glaring at Jon and blinking quickly._

_“Do you even want to be married to me?” Jon snaps. He doesn't mean it, not really, but it hangs in the air between them. The thought’s been lingering in the back of his mind for...weeks. ”Is that what this is about?”_

_“Of_ course _I want to be married to you. What a — we got married! We got_ married! _Yes, I wanted this. I wanted it forever. How could you even think I don’t want this?” Lovett’s spluttering and on edge now, pacing in place. Some part of Jon feels good, seeing him get riled up like this. He wants to drag him down, wants to piss him off...wants to hurt him too. “How can you even ask — God, you're infuriating.”_

 _“_ I’m _the infuriating one? I’m not the one who can’t make a goddamn decision.”_

_“Fuck you,” Lovett says quietly, turning towards him to make eye contact. His lower eyelashes are damp, but his voice is steady. Jon feels the weight behind the words when he says again, “Fuck. You.”_

 

The deadbolt clicks into place when he shuts the door behind him. He hangs his keys on the little hook, puts his sunglasses and wallet on the bookcase that usually holds Leo's leash.

Making his way into the bedroom — the only other room in the apartment — he drops his suitcase on the floor and sits heavily on the bed, feeling the mattress groan underneath him. He takes a minute to just sit and breathe. The air kicks on and the noise of the cars in the street below drifts up. The siren of an ambulance blares past.

He twists the ring on his left hand, watching it reflect the dim light of the lamp. For some reason, it surprises him that it's only taken three days for it to feel normal on his finger again. A long honk outside jolts him out of his reverie, pulls him back to himself. Slowly, methodically, he puts his apartment back to rights: dumps the laundry in the hamper, hangs his suit up, plugs in his laptop.

He hooks his phone up to the speaker but before he turns it on, he sends a text to Lovett: _sorry about the dog thing._

It doesn't take long for him to respond. _Long day._

_Yeah. Talk soon._

His phone stays quiet after that. It’s not much but...it’s something, at least.

There's a little dish on his dresser, a small textured glass bowl littered with random change, Leo's old dog tag — their old address printed boldly across the front, a wooden necklace Andy brought him back from Mexico. It takes a little effort to tug his ring back off. Flying always makes his fingers stiff and swollen. There's a little indentation on the skin left behind, the imprint lingering.

 

 

_“Hi,” Jon starts when the recorded message stops. “Hiiiii.” He draws the second word out until the syllables start to feel funny in his mouth, tingling from the reverb._

_He had...a point, right. “I, uh, miss you, a lot. Which is stupid, I guess,” he snorts a laugh. It might be more of a scoff. “It’s stupid. I’m stupid and like, bad at marriage, I think. I don’t know. I hadn’t been married before. But you know that. You were my first marriage. You were my first a lot of things. Anyway,” he kicks at the floor. Tommy’s house is dark and unfamiliar around him and he can’t remember which light switch turns on the lamp. The room stays dark._

_“Uh, Tommy left me. Not like...left me like you left me. Just for the night. So I’ve been drinking. I drank his alcohol and then I went to that alcohol store...place on Santa Monica that you said looks like a crime scene waiting to happen. I walked. And I didn’t die, so that’s good. I guess._

_“But, I’m drinking because I’m so mad at you and I wanted to call and tell you I’m mad at you. I wanted to tell you that I’m mad at you because I didn’t get that chance before.” He’s so drunk he realizes at some point he’s crying. He doesn’t remember when it started, only becomes aware of it when a sob threatens to crack his rib cage. Maybe it already has. Maybe that’s why his heart feels so exposed._

_“I’m so..._ fucking _mad at you. You were such a dick to me. You’re a dick, you know that?” There’s snot running into his mouth. He swipes at his face. “And you were wrong. You were wrong about everything. You stopped trying, you know? You just…” He chokes a little, has to drag in a ragged breath. “You just left me and you’re leaving the company. You’re a runner, you know?”_

_He sinks to the floor, curling around the place in his abdomen where it feels like a part of him is missing. The center of his chest feels hollow. “I’m mad at you. I’ll be mad at you forever, okay?”_

_His phone beeps at him, makes a noise in his ear. He pulls it away, peering at the screen. The call ended. He can’t remember when it cut off, vaguely remembers hearing a click. He tries to call back. He has more he wants to say but the words are too blurry on the screen and he keeps hitting the wrong button. When Tommy and Hanna come home, he’s still on the floor._

 

 

Jon’s walking through the parking garage of his building when his phone rings. Transferring the iPad and laptop he’s carrying to his other arm, he answers. “Hey, Lovett.”

“Hey. Are we still meeting at the dog park this afternoon?”

“Unless this is you calling to cancel on me, yes.” Jon’s trying to juggle his coffee cup, computers, and car keys and swears quietly.

“Is this a bad time or something?”

“No — just dropped my damn keys.”

“Okay.” Lovett’s voice gets quieter for a minute, like he’s turned away from the phone. “No, this afternoon still works. It’s still good. I have something to talk to you about.”

“Sounds serious.” Jon manages to fold himself into his car, but waits to start it, letting Lovett’s voice fill the silence. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, it’s fine. Nothing big. I just uh, didn’t — didn’t want to forget to tell you.”

“Oh so now it’s on me to remember.” It’s a joke, but it doesn’t quite land; Lovett’s laugh is a little short.

“Yeah, it's up to you.”

“Okay, I'll remember.”

“See you.” Lovett hangs up without waiting for him to respond.

 

 

He heads to their usual spot when he gets to the dog park. It’s at the top of a small hill and his legs ache a little when he pushes himself up it. Lovett’s already there, standing in the shade with his arms crossed and watching Pundit play. He looks like a soccer dad in his worn out tee, sweatpants, tennis shoes, and sunglasses, a snapback pulled low.

“It’s only been two weeks — you missed me that much?” Jon says in greeting when he gets in hearing range. If he were a better gay person, Jon thinks, he’d be able to hug Lovett hello. He’s seen his friends run into exes on the street, usually with a dog and new partner in tow, exchange niceties, lean in for a hug and a kiss on the cheek. They’ll make promises for to meet up for drinks and maybe kiss each other again, like one more for old time’s sake. Jon’s always been on good terms with his exes, but he’s not quite there yet this time.

Lovett smirks a little. “Obviously.” He waits while Jon bends to unclip Leo’s leash, letting him bolt off to meet Pundit. “Thanks again for doing that, by the way.”

“Don’t have to thank me. I didn’t mind.”

Lovett makes a face. “Anyone who willingly puts up with their in-laws is a masochist.”

“I _liked_ my in-laws,” Jon protests. “You liked yours too.”

“Ugh, you’re right. What a heterosexual comment. Never mind.”

They watch the dogs play for a minute, before Jon says, "Seriously, if you want me for Florida next year, let me know so I can block it off on my calendar now. I'll make sure we don't schedule a tour date or something."

"I think I'm actually going to take your advice and let them know." Lovett shrugs.

Jon feels like he's been kicked in the gut, looks back over at him to see if it’s possibly a joke. Lovett looks the same, without a hint of a smile. "What?"

"Might as well," Lovett says, reeling back to pitch the ball for the awaiting dogs. "If they do come visit, it'll just be easier.”

“Yeah.” Jon pauses for a minute. “Are you telling them everything...or like…? Like, that we’re not together anymore, but...timeline of our divorce?”

Lovett laughs a little, tosses him the slobbery ball. “Well I think they’re going to figure out about the triathlon, so I'm starting there. But I haven't gotten that far on the rest yet.”

“Okay.” Jon reaches up to tug his sunglasses in place. He needs the barrier between them. “Is that what you wanted to tell me?”

Lovett shifts a little in place, bites at his lower lip, tugging it into his mouth. “Ah, no. I...I met someone and we're becoming exclusive, I think."

" _Becoming_ exclusive?" Jon parrots back at him. His voice doesn't even sound like his own.

"Yeah," Lovett shrugs again. "You know how it is. I mean, I guess not, but like...culturally. Gay culturally."

"Yeah..." Jon breathes, forcing himself to turn away from Lovett and look back at the dogs racing toward them. "Yeah, I guess I don't know. Gay culturally."

"I didn't want to say anything until I was sure." Lovett tells him, like it's supposed to be a fucking comfort. “And I wanted you to hear it from me.”

“Congrats,” he offers weakly. “How long has it been?”

“We met a few months ago.” A pleased smile twitches across Lovett’s face before he forces it away.

“That’s awesome,” Jon tells him, wishing he could mean it. “I'm happy for you.”

“Thanks.”

“What's his name?” Jon prompts. “Does Pundit approve?”

“Ryan — his name is Ryan.”

“You mentioned him at your parents,” Jon remembers and Lovett nods, kicks at the ground.

“I didn't mean to — it just slipped out. And yes, to answer your other question, Pundit likes him.”

 

 

_“So you and Lovett, huh?” Josh asks. Jon has to lean close to hear him over the noise of the bar._

_“Yeah.” He can tell he’s smiling — just at the thought — but he can’t seem to keep it off his face. “Yeah, me and Lovett.”_

_Josh clinks their beer bottles together. “I didn’t think it would take six years, but cheers anyway.”_

_“I’ve heard that a lot.”_

_“I mean, you moved out to California to be with him,” Josh shrugs, “so we were all waiting.”_

_“I didn’t move out to LA for him.”_

_Josh stares at him. “I saw your other offers. I know what options you had. You were in the middle of building a business with Tommy! You moved out here for him.”_

_“I don’t — I didn’t — shut up.”_

_Josh laughs loudly, the noise swallowed by the crowd. “I knew it.” He picks at the label on his bottle, lifting a corner from the glass. “So are you, like, coming out? Is this...new? Is this why you moved to Weho?”_

_Jon laughs and gestures to the bartender for another round. “I’m definitely not Weho gay. Lovett says I’m a DC-level gay. Quiet about it, you know.” Josh laughs a little, but it’s a measure of their friendship when he doesn’t press further. “I think...I think there were things I didn’t know how to define. Like, in college. Um, women are still great, but there wasn’t really anyone — no guy — that I cared enough about until Lovett.”_

_It’s another careful mark in the depth of their friendship when Josh splutters the last sip of his beer and says loudly, “Oh my_ God _, wait, I've got it — you’re Lovett-sexual. All those years of whoring your way around DC—”_

 _“_ Hey _.”_

 _“—and then when you decide to go for men in_ West Hollywood _, a city literally covered in rainbows — you know I saw a guy walking his dog yesterday in nothing but a tee and assless chaps? — and there’s no other guy for you but Lovett? My god. You're in deep.”_

_Jon buries his head in his hands and groans. “Please, please don’t repeat that about him. I’ll never live it down.”_

_“No you won’t.” Then Josh, still laughing, says sincerely, “I’m happy for you, dude.”_

_Jon bobs his head a little awkwardly in acknowledgement and says, “Me too.”_

 

 

The knock on the door startles Jon. Tommy has a key (and a fob into the building and a parking pass, for that matter), Andy's still filming...he doesn't usually get many other people over.

He pulls the door open to find Lovett on the other side.

“Uh,” he says elegantly. “Hello?”

“Hi.” Lovett stands there, like he's waiting for something.

“Do you want to come in?” It's Jon's turn to proffer the living room, let Lovett push past him. “Um, how do you know where I live?”

“I've known where you lived for _years_ ,” Lovett says, a little proudly. He's turning to take in the space.

“How?”

He pulls his gaze away from the Hope poster on the wall to give Jon a sympathetic look. “Leo's dog tag has had your address on it since you moved out. You're the worst at personal security.”

“Thanks.” Jon takes a seat at the small dining table. “How did you know I’d be here?”

Lovett shrugs. “It's 7pm on a Thursday.”

Jon still feels confused, his brain processing a half step behind. It's hard to see Lovett in this space — the two eras of his life so firmly at odds with each other suddenly meshed together. “But why are you here?”

Lovett cranes his neck to take in the picture of the Boston skyline, ignoring him. “I forgot you had this.”

Jon shrugs a little. “Had the room to hang it here. And no one to tell me not to.”

“You dumb Boston bro.” Lovett sounds fond, wanders into the bedroom without asking. “It is _desolate_ in here. Do you even have a life? Do you want to hang a picture or something? Put down a rug?”

Jon trails in after him, props against the door to watch as Lovett drifts around the room. He touches the dish on Jon's dresser, surveys the unmade bed and the pile of dirty clothes on the floor. He moves to leave and Jon blocks the doorway, stretching his arm out over the gap.

“What are you doing here, Lovett?” He prompts again.

Lovett ducks under his arm and settles cross-legged on the tan sectional. “I wanted to talk.”

“We had a conversation at the park yesterday. And here? Now?”

Lovett leans down to scratch Leo when he wanders over, breaking eye contact with Jon. “I felt weird yesterday.”

“You felt...what?”

“This — with Ryan — feels...significant and I want to — I don't know — make sure you're okay? We're okay?” Lovett laughs a little. “I'm still figuring this out, I guess.”

“We're okay.” Jon confirms, settling across from him. “I meant it: I'm happy for you. As your ex-husband and—” he struggles a little to get the next part of the sentence out “—as your friend.”

“And if I tell my parents?”

“Still happy for you.”

“And if I don't let you take Pundit to the vet?”

Jon laughs, but it's humorless. “It’s your life now. Your choices, right?”

“I guess so.” Lovett twists his fingers together. “But are you _sure_?”

“What do you want from me?”

Lovett sighs. “I don't know.”

Jon spreads his hands. “Then I can’t help you with...however it is you’re feeling.”

“Is this going to be weird?” Lovett asks suddenly, anxiously, like he’s been holding it back. “You and Ryan?”

Jon’s first instinct is to assure him otherwise, but he lets the silence drag out, thinks it through. “I...don’t know.”

“So you won’t be okay with it.”

“I don’t know!” He thinks about running into Lovett at the Farmer’s Market, holding someone else’s hand, about catching snippets of this new side of Lovett’s life on Insta stories and through passing comments. “I...don’t know,” he says again.

“I like hanging out with you,” Lovett says quietly. “This weekend was nice. I’ll miss you, I think, if this is too hard.”

“You think,” Jon repeats. “We could barely make it through a weekend without fighting.”

“Yeah, well you started that one.” Lovett says. “This place really is kind of depressing. It’s too dark in here and you’re on the other side of the damn neighborhood.”

“Weho is an incorporated city.”

Lovett kicks him lightly, sounds exasperated when he says, “Shut up.”

Some small voice in the back of Jon’s mind urges him to hold back, but he barrels forward. “The apartment isn’t that great because I had to choose it quickly, okay? I had to find something and get off Tommy’s couch.”

“You've been here for two years. Could have moved somewhere new. And besides—” He adds, getting worked up, “you forget that you left me _first_.” There's anger boiling behind every word. It rises up quickly, the atmosphere shifting between them. “Or is that fact just too inconvenient to your _pathetic_ , poor-Jon-Favreau narrative?” There’s a moment of stunned silence between them, interrupted by the crunch of Leo’s kibble and the rattle as he noses his dish across the floor. “I _know_ that you hold me responsible for...everything, all of it. But you left first.”

“I didn't —” Jon starts, but Lovett continues.

“You did and you've been hiding from it. So don't pin this on me.” As quickly as Lovett’s anger had flared, it burns out, like it's consumed all the oxygen in the room.

“I don't... I didn't.” He flounders for a minute. “This isn’t the point!”

Lovett stands, reaches down to pet Leo goodbye then pauses with his hand on the door handle. “This was a mistake,” he says quietly, “This is...always going to be the point. I shouldn’t have come.”

 

 

_They get stoned out of their minds one night, a few weeks after Jon arrives in LA with a carry on suitcase in one hand and his framed speech from the President in the other._

_“This is why I moved out here, you know.” He tells the ceiling, lying on Lovett’s floor._

_“For the good weed? I thought it was for me.”_

_“It's weird…” He trails off without realizing it until Lovett kicks him to continue. “It's weird having all this...freedom.”_

_“Yeah, not having to take Air Force One with the most powerful man in the world is a real injustice.”_

_“Do you miss it?” He reaches out, wraps a hand around Lovett’s ankle to keep his foot still. He’s sprawled out on the couch above him, slouched against the pillow and knees wide. “The White House.”_

_“Do you?” Lovett counters._

_Jon giggles. “You first.”_

_“I...miss the place and the people.” Lovett falls into silence, then quietly: “I missed you.”_

_Jon doesn’t remember falling asleep next to Lovett after they watch the second Die Hard in his bed, passing a bag of Goldfish between them. He remembers waking up, painfully sober and dry-mouthed._

_Lovett’s breathing heavily next to him, mouth open and orange crackers crusted at one corner of his mouth. He’s twisted his torso up in the sheets — Jon forgot what a restless sleeper he is — and has one foot hanging off the side of the bed._

_“Lovett,” he says quietly, then repeats it louder until Lovett jolts awake, blinking into the sunshine._

_“Huh?” He’s still fuzzy with sleep. Jon doesn’t laugh when he has trouble disentangling his arm from the knotted sheet to rub a hand over his face, but it’s a close call. “What?”_

_Jon shrugs a little. “I’m bored.”_

_“It’s early.” Lovett complains. “Make me pancakes or let me go back to sleep.”_

_“You should make me pancakes, I'm the guest.”_

_“You're not a guest any more. You live here in LA now.”_

_Jon rolls over to face him. “Yeah, I guess so.”_

_“So,” Lovett explains patiently, “you should make me the pancakes.”_

_“Yeah, okay.”_

_He brightens. “Really?”_

_Jon grins at him, loose and comfortable under the blanket. “No.”_

_Lovett shoves at him with his free hand. “Asshole.”_

_He's fully sober — can't blame his actions on anything but his own lack of self-control when he leans in, carefully, gently, and presses a kiss against Lovett’s mouth._

_There's a moment of white noise, where his brain just fuzzes out completely. Lovett makes a muffled noise and pushes into the touch. Jon can't move, can't think._

_“Come — come here.” Lovett says, struggling out of the sheet._

_Jon pushes close. He fits a hand on Lovett’s hip, rubbing a thumb across the exposed skin under the hem of his t-shirt. He can feel him shiver at the contact._

_It's not comfortable, lying on his side like this, nearly overbalancing into Lovett. Still, he can't make himself move away._

_It's, of course, different than kissing a girl and his brain is frantically trying to categorize the ways. Lovett’s chin is a little stubbly, bristling against Jon's skin. He's stronger, using his newly freed arm to haul Jon closer._

_“I told you: you moved here for me.” Lovett says against his mouth and he has to pull away to laugh, letting Lovett tuck his head into his neck. His curls are soft against the cut of Jon's jaw and his breath is hot and wet along his neck. Lovett laughs too, giggling a little breathlessly. “I fucking_ knew _it.”_

_He sounds smug and unbearably pleased and proud. It's all Jon can think about — pressing their mouths back together, letting their tongues slide together, the little noise Lovett makes as he shifts closer to Jon and fists a hand in his t-shirt._

_The sun's still shining through the window, but Jon can feel his world tilting gently on its axis, realigning. The shift feels easy and natural, as if they were always, inevitably, going to end up here, from that first conference call together._

_Jon knows, deep in his bones — this is it for them. There's no turning back._


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was brought to you by some heroic beta work (yikes @ my commas) and Move You by Kelly Clarkson on repeat.

“Hey, Elijah,” Jon sticks his head around the door of the kitchen.

“Yeah?” He looks up.

“Is that announcement up yet?” Jon’s already drafting his tweet in his head.

“Like, two minutes,” Elijah promises, ducking back down.

“Just let me know,” Jon tells him, heading back to his desk, coffee and snacks in hand. He gets a thumbs up in response.

“And it's live!” Elijah announces a few minutes later, pushing himself back from his desk and raising his hands in victory. Lucca moves quickly out of her bed from behind him, scrambling out of the way.

“Check again,” Tommy advises, peering at his screen with Lucca under his desk. “I don’t see it yet.”

“Oh shit.” He rolls himself back, clicks a few times. He makes a little humming noise in the back of his mouth, taps a few more keys. “Okay, try it again.”

“I see it now,” Jo, one of their new interns, shouts across the office.

Elijah repeats his victory motion. “Now it's live!”

Jon refreshes their Twitter, waits for the page to load. _Pod Tours America is coming for you next week, Washington! Announcing more guests on the way (spoiler alert: @jonlovett this weekend in Seattle with @danpfeiffer and @alyssamastro44!),_ he adds before retweeting the graphic.

It doesn't take long for his notifications to start blowing up. He scrolls through most of them, gets bored after the ninth “omg the OG hosts are reuniting!” reply and stops.

“Way to spoil the surprise,” Brian teases him from across the room. “Knew you wouldn’t be able to keep from sharing early.”

“You might even say...finishing early?” Tommy makes a face. “Nope, that was too far and I didn’t get there in time.”

It just takes an eyebrow wiggle from Tanya to continue the joke and the entire office is laughing. Someone shouts “save it for the ad reads!”. Jon can feel himself flushing and Tommy has the decency to look ashamed. 

“You’re all fired before someone can sue us for sexual harassment,” Jon threatens through his own laughter. “Nobody mention this on Slack, we don't need this shit in writing. Also, I’m telling Lovett, Tommy.” Tommy groans theatrically.

“It will definitely be me,” Travis informs him from where he's squinting at his screen, his hand moving across the tablet on his desk. “I’m suing. This is a hostile work environment.”

Jon’s still laughing when he turns to see Lovett’s already replied to his tweet: _@jonfavs Spoiler Alert: can’t wait_

It's their first contact in almost a month. He knows he's smiling at the screen, but he can't help it — can’t seem to make his muscles cooperate enough to stop as he clicks the little heart icon under Lovett’s tweet.

 

_“I’m saying, it doesn't make sense to go public,” Lovett argues, voice tinny over the phone speaker. “We shouldn't do it. I'm not telling my parents because I just...can’t, you know why. And they listen to the podcasts so we shouldn’t say anything. It’s a weird thing to announce anyway.”_

_“We announced the marriage,” Jon points out. He can’t help himself, even with the glare Tommy sends him._

_“We can keep the plans like they are,” Tommy says, placating. “Lovett will leave the office and the show and we can — we can edit the shows even more carefully so nothing gets mentioned. Jon, can you —” His sentence trails off and the room falls into silence._

_Jon stares at a nail mark on the wall of the conference room. “You really want to go on like everything's normal, Jon?”_  

 _“I don't — it's not — I just don't want to announce the divorce.” Lovett garbles his words, made even worse by the phone speaker. “And it’s not_ normal _, I’m leaving the fucking show and moving out of the office.”_

_“Fantastic.” Jon says flatly. “No changes at all. Sounds great.”_

_“What am I — ugh, fine — you’re just.” Lovett says. “That's...whatever.”_

_“You're getting what you wanted,” Jon snaps and Lovett sighs. “What else do you want?”_

_“Nothing, this is fucking fantastic.”_

_“Okay, so,” Tommy starts again, fiddling with his pen. “Lovett will leave the show and the office, keep his show, and we'll schedule studio time. We'll keep the divorce as private as possible. Just us and friends, if we can. Can the two of you handle that like adults?”_  

_“Yeah.” Jon says as Lovett says casually — like they’re not discussing splitting apart their personal and professional lives — “don't worry about it.”_

 

It takes Jon a minute to figure out where he is when he wakes up. He stares at the unfamiliar nightstand for long moments until he puts it together.

_Seattle, tour, right._

_Seattle, tour, Lovett._

_Right_.

He’d drugged himself a little too heavily on the late night flight up and it takes him a long time to get out of bed. His head feels fuzzy and he leaves a trail of clothes in his wake. He stumbles through a quick shower and heads down to the lobby for breakfast, finding the rest of the crew crowded around a table.

“Morning.” He offers, squeezing into a chair between Tommy and Elisa. He sets his plate of eggs and a half-warmed bagel on the table and looks up to see Lovett scrutinizing him carefully.

“Too many drugs on the plane?” He asks bluntly. They'd been in different rows for the flight — barely greeted each other at the airport as Lovett zeroed in on Elijah and stayed glued to his side — and this is the first full sentence they've exchanged since the fight in Jon's living room.

“How can you tell?”

“You forgot to put creamer in your coffee. And for someone who flies as much as you do, you always fuck up the dosage.”

Jon looks down at his mug. Lovett’s right. “Oh. Shit.” He moves to push his chair back, but Lovett beats him to it, standing and reaching across the table.

“Give me the cup.”

“The timing of the flight messes me up.” Jon protests to the table, passing the mug to Lovett. Their fingers brush. Lovett cradles the mug carefully then trots across the room to the half and half.

“Or you can’t do simple math,” Elisa says, entirely unsympathetic.

“There wasn’t even a time change involved this time.” Tommy points out, grinning a little. Jon knows he’s teasing, frowns at him anyway.

“Here you go,” Lovett says from behind him. He braces his hand against the back of Jon’s chair, leaning around him to slide his coffee onto the table.

“Thanks.”

Lovett doesn’t say anything back, but the corner of his mouth twitches up as he takes his seat again. Jon watches him for a minute, then tunes back into the conversation. It's not entirely comfortable sitting across from each other, but they're not screaming in this hotel in the middle of a strange city either. Jon doesn't want to let himself hope for...he doesn’t know what. Anything, maybe.

 

The rest of the day passes in a haze of show prep, a Twitter fight that he looks back at with little memory of participating in, ad reads in a small, dimly lit room sitting knee-to-knee over the iPad with Tommy, microphones pressed to their mouths and trying not to let their laughter get too loud.

Lovett’s doing a show before they tape Pod Save America the next day and the crew treks out to work it that night. Jon and Tommy tag along to watch from the back of the sound booth. The theater’s full and their noise nearly drowns out the theme song when Lovett walks on stage.

His drink’s balanced on top of his index cards as he takes his seat, microphone in the other hand. “Hi, Seattle!”

Jon hasn’t seen Lovett in front of a crowd, at least not in person, since he stopped co-hosting. Lovett shines brighter like this, leaning back in his chair and grinning in a way that has nothing to do with the two vodka sodas he’d had backstage. His on-stage persona is all of his very best elements exaggerated, illuminating him until the rest of him is cast into sharp relief.

Jon spent three years of Friday nights faithfully attending Lovett’s shows. He spent more years workshopping jokes and testing bits. He’s spent hours and hours here in this space with Lovett.

This one feels special. Maybe it’s the two year break, but he finds himself marveling all over again at how clever it is, how good the energy is, how smart and funny Lovett is. It makes him think about that first night, in the small room at the Improv when Lovett rehearsed jokes in the green room until Jon could recite them himself; when Jon agreed to be on the first panel because if it all crashed and burned, he wanted to be up there, sitting beside Lovett. He feels hot when Lovett looks over the crowd, the corners of his lips quirking up when he spots them. Tommy, the nerd, waves.

It’s almost easier to love Lovett when he’s like this — when he’s gleaming under the stage lights and the attention of the crowd and when, maybe, he’s feeling the pressure of the double show too, as he pushes his jokes harder and thinks faster.

Maybe Jon can only love him like this, as an overperformed caricature of himself under the spotlight, his shadows washed out and over exposed.

All too quickly, Lovett’s shouting “and that’s our show!” He stands on stage for a minute as the audience cheers loudly and Jon knows — knows _so_ well how much this means to him. They’re all cheering for him. He’s selling out theaters and Jon wishes he had some way to go back and reassure the kid in New York trying to fill comedy shows on a weeknight that it would all work out eventually. He wishes he could tell that kid he’d have this moment — this moment where he gets to stand and let the applause wash over him.

The crowd gradually files out. Lovett sits on the stage listening intently to an older man who comes up to him as the house lights rise. He’s nodding along, lets the man talk himself out before he responds. When the man’s finished, Tanya herding him away, Lovett speaks to a few more people, signs a few pieces of merch before escaping towards Jon and Tommy backstage.

“Good show,” Jon offers.

“Seattle’s always a good crowd.” Lovett says graciously, then grins widely. “Did you hear the joke —”

“Oh no,” Tommy cuts in. “We’re not doing this. We’re not dissecting the show.”

Lovett stares at him. “Well then what are we supposed to talk about at dinner?”

“I’m headed out,” Tommy jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “Meeting a friend from San Francisco for drinks.”

Jon and Lovett protest in unison: “You’re abandoning us?” “What other friends do you _need_?”

He grimaces at them, tucking his hands into his pockets.

“Elijah!” Lovett shouts. “I need burritos since Tommy’s leaving me.”

“Not your assistant,” Elijah complains, already typing something into his phone. “The nearest Chipotle is just around the corner.”

Tommy turns to Jon, arms crossed. “You going?”

Jon glances between Lovett and Elijah, thinks about having to sit across from Lovett after a month. He can’t afford to fuck it up this soon, to disrupt this tenuous balance they’ve struck; they have a sold out show to perform tomorrow, an entire other crowd waiting for them.

“Nah,” Jon says, “gonna go to the gym.”

Lovett shakes his head from where he’s peering at the map Elijah’s pulled up on his phone. “I can’t believe I agreed to go on stage with the two of you tomorrow and then you both just abandon me like this.”

“You’ll be fine,” Tommy says, clapping him on the shoulder. “Come on, Jon.” They walk out of the theater together, like Tommy can sense that Jon would stay there all night with Lovett otherwise.

 

_“Okay,” Jon reaches down to scratch Lucca as she chews idly on the hem of his jeans. “Let’s do this.”_

_“Do you want to do a shot first?” Tommy offers. “Or uh...something? You have a pen? I feel like I should make this special somehow.” He rubs his hands on his thighs,_ _propping a foot on his chair_ _._

 _Jon laughs a little. “No, I’m okay. And I have a pen.” He’s tapping it insistently against the edge of his coffee cup, anxiety bleeding through._ _Tommy’s kitchen is bright in the early morning — they have a meeting at the office at nine, but Jon needs to get this off his plate first. He needs to stop thinking about it._ _“There really aren’t any typos?” He pushes the form toward Tommy. “I haven’t missed anything?”_

_Tommy gives it a cursory glance. Jon can’t blame him — he’s looked at it at least three separate times before. “Nope.”_

_He takes a deep, shuddering breath. “Okay, okay.” Leo licks his ankle helpfully as he leans over, scrawling his signature across the bottom of the page. He adds the date, stares at the page for a moment. “I guess that’s it — I’m divorced.”_

_Tommy pulls the pen from his hand, signing as a witness below Jon’s name. He puts a hand on the back of his neck, digging his thumb into the tensed muscle. “Proud of you, buddy.”_

_Jon takes another deep breath, staring down at the page in front of him. He doesn’t feel any different, not yet. And there’s still a blank line next to his name, waiting for Lovett’s signature, so it’s not entirely finalized yet. And then the overwhelm hits. “God, I really —” He gets teary again, his voice shaking as he speaks. “I have to set up a new bank account,” he says miserably. “And like...take his name off our car insurance and get new renter’s insurance, I guess and, fuck me, I have to find a place to live that isn’t your couch and Leo needs dog food and —”_

_“Hey,” Tommy says gently, “hey, it’ll be okay.”_

_Jon tries to take a breath and sobs instead._

_“Hey, hey, hey.” Tommy turns more fully toward him, puts his arms around him. It’s an awkward angle but Jon pitches forward onto his shoulder anyway. “We’ll figure it out.”_

_Jon lets out a shuddering breath, pulling away to wipe at his eyes. “Okay.”_

_“None of that has to be dealt with now.” Tommy assures him. “I’ll drop this off at Lovett’s on the way to the office —”_

_“It’s not really on the way.”_

_“Shut up, it’s fine. It’s five blocks. We’ll drop it off for him to sign and get you another coffee on the way.” Tommy pats his shoulder as Jon takes another deep breath. “Come on, let’s go.”_

 

Jon gets on the elevator — it feels ridiculous to take the elevator after going to the gym, but climbing the stairs doesn’t sound particularly appealing either — and reflexively checks his phone. He doesn’t have any notifications. Since Trump left office (and the democracy stayed intact), the feeling of constant, impending doom has lessened, but he feels jumpy tonight anyway.

“What floor do you need, baby?” One of the women on the elevator asks. She’s leaning against her girlfriend, their fingers intertwined; probably a little drunk too, based on the way she’s wobbling in her heeled boots. 

“Uh —” Jon realizes a beat too late that she’s talking to him and by then, the moment’s passed for him to respond. He leans forward and presses the button for his floor, turning his attention back to his phone.

“I’m so tired.” The woman who’d spoken to him says at large.

“I know, babe.” Her girlfriend turns to press a kiss to her forehead and the first woman, the tipsy one, tucks her head into her partner’s neck. They don’t kiss and their fingers stay firmly interlocked between them but it’s so intimate, so close, that Jon stays staring down at his phone. It doesn’t feel right to intrude, even in this semi-public space.  

They get off on the floor below him, the elevator crawling to a stop. The drunk one waves cheerily at him and he returns it with a short motion of his hand. His hotel room is quiet when he closes the door. It smells a little stale as he picks across the room, his clothes already strewn everywhere. He’s sweaty from his run and messes with the thermostat, shivering until the unit shuts off. The air is too still, settling around him.

It makes him twitchy. He fights back the urge to start pacing the floor, opting instead to turn on CNN and settle on his bed. He keeps it on mute, watching the automated subtitles scroll across the screen without absorbing any of the material. The vivid red chyrons are hidden behind the closed captioning, but he figures out what they're talking about soon enough.

The light from the TV flickering across the white bedspread turns it blue. Jon’s tired, but not sleepy enough to actually go to bed. He’s fidgety, turning his phone over and over in his hands.

The room’s too small, the walls too close. Before he can question it, talk himself out of it — remind himself that they have a show tomorrow — he’s leaning over to pull his sneakers back on.

He takes the stairs down this time. It helps settle him, ground him again, burn off some of the excess energy running underneath his skin. The bar’s mostly empty when he takes a seat and orders the first beer he recognizes on the list.

“Thanks,” he says quietly when the bartender slides it over to him. He doesn’t fit in here in the dimly lit room, generic art scattered across the walls and cheap lights throwing shadows. Or, a more disconcerting thought, maybe he does. He's still wearing his Pod Save America sweatshirt and gym shorts, but at least it’s not quiet. One of the TVs is on low in the background, the basketball players squeaking up and down the court.

A man in a suit is sitting a few seats down, his tie loose around his neck and shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He's cute. For half a second, Jon thinks about closing the distance between their chairs and striking up a conversation. It’s not...the craziest idea he’s ever had. They’re likely both here on business — it makes it easy to escape, cut all ties. Jon looks down the bar at him again, thinks about going back to his hotel room alone. He keeps his seat.

The beer’s nearly gone by the time Lovett and Elijah walk through the lobby. Jon doesn’t notice Lovett until he’s sliding into the seat next to him, grabbing his attention.

“Hey.”

“Miller Lite,” Jon tells the bartender before Lovett can order. “Hey.”

“What are you drinking? What if I want that?”

“You’d hate it,” Jon says, passing his glass over anyway. Lovett takes a sip and makes a face. “See?”

“That tastes like plants.”

“Hops.”

“I'm not wrong. Plants.”

Jon snorts a laugh into his glass, signals for another even though his glass is still half full. “Told you. How were the burritos?”

“Good,” Lovett says, then: “you should have come with us.”

“Next time.”

“What are you doing down here?” Lovett asks, getting comfortable in his seat and tucking one leg under himself. He's the only person Jon's ever seen sit cross-legged on a bar stool and he loves him for it. “Just wanted to ruin all your hard work in the gym? You're looking very campaign chic right now with your,” he snorts a laugh, “gym shorts and sneakers.”

Jon laughs. “I don't think one beer will —”

Lovett raises his eyebrows. “I always tell myself one burger and then suddenly I’m at Shake Shack three times in one week…”

Jon laughs harder, takes their beers from the bartender. “It'll be okay.”

“So,” Lovett asks again, “what are you doing down here? Too much on your mind?” Lovett’s good at this — good at Jon. He's knows the right buttons to push, the combination to set to get him to open up.

“Uh, just...didn't want to sleep. The room was too quiet.”

Lovett hums a little, processing. Jon wonders if he's also thinking about all the times they talked until he could fall asleep, until the dark no longer felt like it was pressing against him, when Lovett would take his hand in bed to remind him he wasn't alone.

He'd whisper “wake me up if you need to” as he was falling asleep, letting Jon push into his space. Jon would lie awake in the dark, listening to Lovett snore quietly, his cheek against Lovett’s bare shoulder, their hands tangled together.

It wasn't always the night time. Sometimes the worst moments were in the sleepless mornings before dawn, when he'd slip from bed and pace the floor, treading a path in the carpet until the dogs woke up for their early morning walk. They’d leave Lovett tucked in bed and go blinking into the sunrise.

It feels like something from a dream — an entire other life.

“I'm nervous about tomorrow.” Lovett volunteers, taking a long drink of his watery beer like the admission cost him something. “Uh, being back with you guys after...so long.”

“You’ll be great,” Jon says automatically, then adds “but I am too. Nervous.”

Lovett laughs a little. “That uh, makes me feel better.” They fall silent and Jon wipes the foam from his beer away from his mouth. “I’m sorry,” Lovett says, a little abruptly.

“What?”

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, running a thumb through the condensation on his glass. “I’m sorry for uh, Florida. And making you lie to my parents. Both times. Also like...all the secrecy.” He makes a face. “I feel bad about it. It wasn't fair to you.”

Jon has to work to swallow his beer, clearing his throat before he can speak. “Thanks.”

“Yeah. I know you like them and — and they like you and I'm sorry if I’ve fucked that up. I’ve been thinking about it...since I’m telling them. As you know.”

Jon glances over to find Lovett watching him, waiting for his reaction. “You couldn't make me do anything I didn't want to,” he says quietly. _But I'd do anything you asked_ , he doesn't say. 

Lovett gives him a small smile, like he knows Jon's thinking the second part. “Yeah,” he says a little faintly.

“Besides,” Jon says, “it was fun.”

Lovett laughs out loud. “It was not. It was a long weekend with my _parents_.”

Jon shrugs a little. “It was good to spend time together. I'm uh, glad we're on better terms again — you and I, I mean.”

“Me too. I guess we didn't really have anywhere to go but up.”

“Amen to that.” Jon raises his glass.

“You really go to Mass again?” Lovett asks, picking up the new thread.

“Yeah, I do.”

“Every week?”

“Yeah, when we don’t have a show or something.”

“Huh,” he says quietly. Jon can practically feel him readjusting his mental calculations, processing the new information. “Why?”

“I needed community, I think. After. I uh...it's not for God, really. I needed routine and to be somewhere new. I needed…” Jon lets out a deep sigh. “I needed a lot of things after we split up and I knew I'd find them there.” Lovett doesn't respond.

When Jon chances another glance over, Lovett’s shifted to studiously watching the basketball game, the dim lights of the hotel bar highlighting his cheeks. One side of his face is thrown into shadow and his eyelashes fan out against his cheekbones. Jon thinks about the contrast from Lovett’s presence on stage earlier, the persona he'll don again tomorrow. He loves this quieter side too, wants to tuck this moment into his pocket, treasure it.

“I'm sorry too.” That gets Lovett's attention. “For uh,” he knows what for — can hear Lovett’s shouts echoing in his mind, “for all of it, really. But mostly,” he picks at a hangnail, “mostly for not talking to you before I decided all that stuff...the surrogacy stuff.”

Lovett inhales sharply.

“I should have asked you,” Jon tells the wooden bar counter. “I wanted us to be partners but, uh...I think I lost you somewhere along the way. I got too excited, I guess. And I didn’t stop to uh, wait. Before I made the decisions. You were right.”

He stops after that, doesn’t know what else to say. Lovett drums his fingers on the counter, his other hand tapping the same pattern against his thigh.

“You weren’t — ah...it wasn’t just you, you know,” Lovett says finally, a little breathless. “I know I’m not the easiest person to be in a relationship with.”

“Jon, don’t —”

“It’s true.” Lovett meets his eyes again, challenging him. “I know...I know myself.”

“If I ever said anything that made you think it was hard for me or — or anything like that. I don’t want to have like...fucked up your other relationships or anything.”

“No, you didn’t. It wasn’t you.” There’s a long pause. “Ryan and I aren’t ah...I don’t know. Whatever.”

Something drops out of the bottom of Jon’s stomach. “What?”

Lovett makes a face he can’t exactly interpret. “It’s…it’s not as serious as I thought, I guess.” He laughs, a little hollowly. “You know me — I get my hopes up too high too quickly. Fucking optimism.” He says it like a flaw. “We weren’t on the same page or something. So,” he lifts a hand in a half shrug, “he won’t be going to Florida anytime soon.”

Jon swallows around the lump in his throat, lifts his beer to his lips. Lovett doesn’t continue and he knows better than to ask. “I’m sorry.”

Lovett gives him a little smile. “After I came to your house and yelled at you and everything.”

“I deserved it, probably.”

“Probably not.”

“So are you still uh, planning to tell your parents? About us.”

“Yeah, I was thinking I would. It's not as necessary now, but it's probably time. And your parents know so...it makes sense. Is there a reason I should?” Lovett asks carefully. “Is there anyone for you?”

Jon shreds his cocktail napkin, opening it up to a single sheet and methodically ripping strips away, to keep his hands occupied. “Well, Alyssa keeps trying. She set me up with someone. One of her friends.”

“Oh that’s what she was talking about.” Lovett laughs a little. “I heard her talking about you and didn’t know what she meant.”

Jon grins at him. “That was it. Robin was uh, nice enough.”

“Nice enough?” Lovett asks curiously. “No second date?”

“Nah, it was a few months ago. Before we went to Florida.”

Lovett hums a little. “Does Alyssa have good taste?”

Jon can’t bring himself to make eye contact with Lovett. “Doesn’t really matter — not sure I’m like...looking for anything right now. Or anyone, I guess.”

Lovett pokes at the pile of napkin pieces. “I don’t think I have any friends that are good enough for you.”

Jon’s definitely blushing, although maybe the bar’s dark enough to hide it. He fiddles with the glass in his hands. “Don’t say — that’s not — not true.”

“You’re Jon _fucking_ Favreau,” Lovett says in that tone that’s part incredulity, part exasperation, and some sort of fond that Jon would rather not examine too closely. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Jon awkwardly makes a noise that was supposed to be a laugh, looks up at the TV to distract himself.

“Hey.” Lovett’s voice is gentle, careful again. “I mean it.” Jon glances over at him, even as it makes his cheeks heat up. “You’re too good, sometimes.” The corner of his mouth twitches up. “I don’t think I told you — er, tell you — that enough.”

There’s a chance Jon’s hurtling down a path to spontaneous combustion. “Thanks, I guess.”

“Be a little more humble,” Lovett teases him lightly. “I want to hear all about what a hardship it is to be the best person I know.”

“Oh my god.” Jon puts a hand to his face. “Stop, please.”

Lovett laughs loudly. “Aren’t you supposed to be enjoying this?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be saving this for the show?”

“I can call it up at any time. This is easy.” He’s watching him with a look Jon hasn’t seen in years. It’s almost too much to bear.

“Fantastic.” A shot in the game catches Jon’s attention, distracting him for a minute.

“There is, uh, something else.” Lovett says quietly when the play’s run out. “Something else I’ve been thinking about. Recently. I’ve had a lot of time to think.”

“Yeah?”

“Um, I think I —” He makes a face, shifts a little on his stool, wiggles until he’s comfortable. “I used to hold you to a higher standard, I think, just...generally. My expectations were too high because...you’re Jon Favreau. You save governments and write the best speeches in the free world and run multimillion dollar companies.” He scoffs a little. “When you Google your name, you get your speeches for the President of the United States and the director of fucking _Iron Man_ . So I think I expected you to be the best. But uh, it’s not attainable, what I was expecting from you. Or — or fair, really. You’re not a god, or like...a mind reader, so. It wasn’t fair to _you_ , is what I’m trying to say.”

Jon reaches out when he finishes, resting his hand on Lovett’s forearm. He’s processing — doesn’t have words yet to respond. His fingertips curl around the edge of Lovett’s wrist; the skin-to-skin contact oddly calming. He can feel Lovett watching him. “I uh,” he starts, has to clear his throat. “I didn’t...you don’t have to say that. I don’t feel like you did that. Held me to a higher standard, I mean.”

“Well, I did. I wanted you — I expected you to know what I wanted and to know what I was feeling and I’m sure — I know it was part of the reason I got like...mad at you sometimes. I know I caused some of our problems.” He blows the rest of his air out at the end of his sentence — a sharp exhale that makes his shoulders drop.

“It wasn’t just you,” Jon says. It feels fundamentally important, somehow, even now, that Lovett understands that. “It was me too and — and both of us.”

Lovett finishes his beer. “I know. I just...I’ve been thinking about it and wanted to say that I’m sorry for my part in this whole mess too.”

Jon realizes he’s still touching Lovett, pulls his hand back. He reaches for his beer in the next movement, hoping it looks natural. “Then...thanks. I’m sorry too.”

“I know.” Lovett rolls his eyes. “You’re the most goddamn earnest person I know.”

Jon grins at him. “That’s why I have you, right?”

“Clearly.” The bartender passes their bill over, pulling his attention away, and Jon slips his credit card into the pocket. “We should talk about the business real quick, so we can use the company card. Want to tell me about one of those reports you sent over that I didn’t read?” Lovett asks, finishing his drink.

Jon laughs, signing the slip. “Next time.”

“It’s a plan,” Lovett says as they get up. They cross the lobby in stride and Lovett leans forward, t-shirt pulling tight over his shoulder as he presses the button for the elevator. “What floor are you on?”

“Five; you?”

“Four.” He pushes the buttons for their floors as the elevator starts to rise. He crosses his arms, surveying Jon. “You gonna sleep okay?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine.” The doors open on Lovett’s floor before Jon’s ready, bursting the quiet bubble they’ve created. “See you in the morning?”

Lovett smiles at him, soft and private. “See you in the morning.”

 

“You're going to be okay tonight, right?” Tommy asks him in an undertone when they're walking the back halls of the theater to soundcheck. Lovett had claimed guest status “as a former host” and hurried off alone to the Space Needle and Chihuly after breakfast “before someone could assign any responsibilities.” “With Lovett?”

The extra explanation is unnecessary — Jon’s been waiting for this to come up since their plane lifted off the tarmac at LAX. “I’ll be okay,” he reassures him. “We’re sorting through it. We had a really good talk last night.”

Tommy gives him a dubious look. “I’m trusting you to handle this without fucking up the company.”

Jon laughs, shortly and without humor. “I’ve heard.”

“Just making sure it’s clear,” he says sternly before pushing through the curtains and stepping onto the stage where Dan and Alyssa are waiting. “Hi co-hosts!”

“Thomas!” Alyssa says, too cheerily for someone who’s spent most of the day at a book signing.

They all get outfitted for mics while they wait for Lovett to arrive. Jon’s got his shirt half-lifted, letting the venue’s sound guy run his headset down the back of his shirt. Which, of course, is when Lovett walks on stage. Lovett sets his gaze on him first, naturally, and it feels like every inch of his skin gets flushed at the contact.

“A little risqué for a family show, Favreau,” he says lightly in greeting.

“Putting our Explicit rating to good use,” Jon returns.

“Well in that case. It'll certainly translate well into an audio medium.” Lovett gives him a little smile as Jon steps away from the sound tech, dropping his shirt and pressing into Lovett’s space. “Do you feel better today?” 

Jon shrugs. “More human than yesterday morning.”

“Someday you’ll learn,” Lovett says kindly.

“Or you can keep making fun of me,” Jon offers and Lovett grins more widely, sways toward him. Maybe that last part is just Jon’s imagination, but after a half beat, Jon pulls him into a gentle hug anyway. He goes willingly, wraps his arms around Jon’s waist. It’s quick, barely any time at all, but Lovett’s _here_ and real, solid under his touch.

“If he gets a hug, I do too,” Alyssa demands when Lovett moves toward her for a side hug. “A real one — what is the matter with you?”

“Can I go back home yet?” Lovett asks Dan, who just laughs and sets a hand fondly on his shoulder. It’s comforting to see him slot back into their space like this. If Jon closed his eyes, it might even be 2018 again in the middle of their tour and the middle of their marriage — that time when everything made sense.

“You still have a show to do, so no,” Tommy tells him.

“Okay.” Lovett settles into his usual chair next to Jon, he and Tommy flanking Lovett naturally as Dan and Alyssa take their seats at the far end of the stage. “Let’s do this.”

The shrieks when they come on stage are even louder than usual, Jon thinks. They’re _certainly_ louder when Lovett announces himself. They have to pause and wait for it to die down, the entire panel laughing as they sit. 

“So,” Jon starts, turning to look at the rest of the panel to his left, “did anything important happen this week?”

“Oh come on, Jon,” Lovett says, his voice echoing out over the audience, “give the people a chance to get _settled_ and warmed up.”

The crowd cheers loudly and Lovett chuckles, biting his lip as he looks at Jon.

“You’re insufferable,” Jon tells him, unable to look away as Lovett laughs, his loud, long, surprised laugh.

“Are you two done yet?” Tommy asks them fondly, from Lovett’s other side.

Lovett slouches down in his seat, props his chin on his hand to watch Jon. “Never, Thomas.”

Someone in the crowd whoops loudly and Alyssa scoffs from the end. “Why did we invite him on the show again?”

The crowd cheers louder and Jon has to turn his gaze down to his iPad, fighting back a smile.

“This show is off the rails,” Lovett says, sounding pleased. “Is this the vibe on the pod now? I usually don’t listen.”

Dan makes an outraged noise. Tommy’s already laughing when Lovett breaks and starts to giggle. It’s a good show.

 

_“I promise, I don’t care about the flowers,” Jon says. Lovett ignores him and sticks the bouquet he’s holding into his face._

_“I care a lot, so give me your opinion anyway.”_

_“They smell like flowers. They look fine._ _I have no other opinions about them._ _”_

_“Jonathan Favreau, I’m holding flowers when we get married and there will be pictures and I’m going to display them forever, so I need you to tell me if they’re ugly.” The house is shadowed in the sunset, corners darkening as the sun slips behind the palm trees. Jon leans around the glass vases scattered across the dining room table to turn on the overhead light._

_“I’m not going to be looking at the flowers though.”_

_“Don’t get sappy on me. I can’t handle that right now. Just tell me —” Lovett shakes the vase he’s holding “— pink or yellow?”_

_“Yellow.”_

_“Wrong answer. We’ll be wearing navy and yellow would look awful.”_

_“Okay, so pink.”_

_“You’re only saying that because I said that about yellow.”_

_“Jesus Christ,” Jon mutters, reaches up to tug Lovett into his lap. It takes him a minute to settle and get comfortable — Jon can feel the moment his thighs relax_ _and he leans back against him_ _— but it always does. “Which ones do you like?”_

_“The pink ones with,” Lovett leans forward to tug one of the other flowers off the table, “with this.”_

_“It’s perfect.”_

_Lovett turns toward him and Jon can see the moment he thinks about arguing, about being difficult just to be difficult. He holds back though: “Thank you.”_

_“Can I be sappy now?”_

_“Nope.” Lovett turns back away. “Save it for the wedding.”_

_Jon bites gently at the back of his neck. “Can’t I do both?”_

_Lovett hums a little, squinting at the small bunch of flowers in his hand. “No.”_

_“Can I tell Tommy he can check flowers off his spreadsheet?”_

_Lovett laughs at that and Jon can feel the vibration through his body. “Yes. And then he’ll get off my ass about it.”_

_“Maybe he’ll quit dragging you in ad reads.”_

_Lovett shakes his head. “Yeah, going down that road with him was a mistake.”_

_“Don’t mess with a man and his chart,” Jon says gravely._

_Lovett turns back to look at him, propping his elbow on the table. “I wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize this.”_

_“Me either.” They’ve agreed to write their own vows, but this feels just as permanent, just as binding as anything else Jon could come up with._

 

They’ve been home in LA for all of 72 hours when Lovett texts him. It’s a picture of the syphilis billboard by Jon’s apartment — a horrible, closely cropped photo of someone’s collarbones and a bold warning about STD prevention. 

Lovett’s accompanying text reads: _glad to be home?_

Jon considers texting back, but decides to just call him instead. “You know I hate that billboard,” he says as soon as Lovett answers.

Lovett’s cackle is just as infectious over the phone as it is in person and Jon finds himself chewing his lower lip, trying to force away a smile. “So?”

“Being home is great.” Jon says with a sigh. “And someday, the Weho City Council will get rid of the billboard and put me out of my misery.”

“I hope it stays forever,” Lovett says cheerfully. “And I would have thought that throats with _rashes_ ,” he emphasizes the word just to hear Jon gag, “would be exactly your type. So the basis for your disgust escapes me.”

“I’m hanging up on you now,” Jon tells him when Tommy comes back into the conference room. “Some of us have meetings to go to with real pants on.”

“You’re just jealous of my writer life,” Lovett says dismissively, then shouts “you’re just upset because you know I’m right!” as Jon hangs up.

Jon turns back to his notes for their conference call but several texts from Lovett come through at once:

_Should this go on this week’s Rant Wheel?_

_Hmm, maybe too niche. Syph isn’t a great crowd pleaser._

_We live in a weird place._

_Ok, I’ve decided, I’m keeping this one just for you._

 

It's easier than Jon expected to keep up their banter, a well worn path together. Later that week, Tommy watches him suspiciously as Jon bends down to snap a picture of Leo on his rug before attaching it to his WhatsApp thread with Lovett. 

“You guys are really just friends?”

“Really just friends, Tom.”

Tommy looks unconvinced. “You’ve never done anything casually in your life.”

Jon pets Leo as he comes over to sniff his face. “No, it’s good. It reminds me of what it was like before all the...the mess.”

“So it reminds you of what it was like just before you started dating? Or what it was like when you were married?” Tommy sighs. “This is definitely going to end well.”

“Go attack him, Leo.” Jon orders, ruffling Leo’s ears. “Bite him. Be fierce.”

Tommy just rolls his eyes.

“We're not dating,” Jon insists.

“Sure, okay.”

“We're not!”

Tommy just laughs and picks Leo up, setting him on his lap when he wanders over to lick hopefully at his fingers.

 

Somehow, improbably, it continues; Jon wakes up every morning expecting to think it was all a dream. They fall back into each other’s rhythm easily enough, at least from a distance. 

Lovett sends his latest script over without preamble — a link with a note that says _don’t text me back unless it’s good. I haven’t slept for 36 hours_

Jon doesn’t even need to take a look at the document before he’s texting Lovett back: _it’s great. sleep well._

_You’re a damn liar. But thank you._

(The script is great; it’s funny and poignant and touches on police brutality without being too heavy handed. Once Jon’s actually read it, he tells Lovett so.)

Jon doesn’t see Lovett again until he comes into the studio late one afternoon, finds Lovett at the recording table.

He slips into the room quietly, taking a seat by the video cameras. Lovett’s laughing into the mic, scrolling through his phone with one hand.

“What’s uh —” Jon asks quietly, leaning over to Elijah.

“Pickups we didn’t catch at last week’s show,” he answers in an undertone as Lovett starts on his next line.

“Tickets for next week’s Lovett or Leave It at the Chicago — fuck.” He covers his eyes with his free hand, laughing. Elijah pulls up Instagram, recording the tail end of his sentence. “It’s taken me so many fucking times — oh good, Jon, you should come do this.”

Jon holds up his hands. “Your show, your pickups.”

“You like being helpful. Come help me!”

Groaning, Jon gets up, taking his usual seat on Lovett’s right.  He looks over at him. He’s smiling, can’t help it, taking in Lovett’s messy curls and the bags under his eyes. Lovett’s flushed under the studio lights, iced coffee next to his computer. “Just like old times?”

“I have one Jon Favreau in the studio today,” Lovett tells the mic, turning his head to keep his eyes on Jon, “because uh, I can’t seem to get through this intro alone.”

“Hi guys,” Jon tells the invisible audience. “We’re uh, what’s happening?”

“We’re professionals.” Lovett says proudly. “Read this.” He slides his phone over to Jon.

“Tickets for next week’s Lovett or Leave It at the Cincinnati — didn’t you just say Chicago?”

“Don’t shame me like this in front of my captive listeners. We’re leaving all of this in, by the way.”

Jon clears his throat, tries again. “‘Tickets for next week’s Lovett or Leave It in Cincinnati are available at crooked.com/events.’ Why was that so hard?”

“Okay,” Lovett shoves at his shoulder. “Thank you for your assistance, you can leave my show now.”

Jon passes his phone back, gives him a small smile. He’s not entirely sure what friendship looks like with Lovett anymore — maybe this is it.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not to give anything away, but if you want a soundtrack to the chapter: Kesha's "Finding You". xo

_Jon’s unloading the last few boxes around his apartment Sunday afternoon. It’s early enough to still feel hopeful and productive about the rest of the day, but he can feel the lingering dread of dusk building in the shadows. Leo settles in his new favorite spot under the cheap Ikea dining table and watches Jon’s movements a little suspiciously. Jon eventually finds himself in a good rhythm, methodically emptying his belongings. It's the first time all day his brain feels quiet. He’s gotten into a bad habit of scrolling Facebook in the quiet moments — losing himself in the endless despair of the internet, but he doesn't even think to check his phone until the playlist playing over his new Sonos ends._

_He crosses over to the kitchen counter to pick it up and his stomach drops when the screen shows the notification:_ **New Message: Jon Lovett** _with the accompanying ring emoji._

_He should change that._

_Part of him doesn't want to open the message, wants to stay in the blissful ignorance, put off the inevitable navigation of this...new phase of their relationship. Or really, lack thereof. The other part is on red alert, frantically running through improbable scenarios: Lovett in the hospital, Tommy in the hospital, car wreck, house robbery, office fire._

_If Lovett’s texting him, it must be important. It shouldn't be so scary, but neither of them have breached the invisible barrier between them since they sat across from each other and next to their lawyers, coolly dividing their assets. Tommy’s been their go-between, handling paperwork and whatever else has come up in the months since Jon...just never went home._

_He takes a deep breath and opens the message._

_The message is simple and to the point:_ Pundit’s depressed and misses Leo. Can we meet at the dog park next week?

 _It's a pang to the chest, really. Of course it's about the dogs. He doesn't know what he was_ _expecting_ _. He doesn't know why he feels disappointed._

Anything for P, _he replies and maybe it’s a little too pointed._ How's Thursday?

 

Whatever unsteady balance they’ve struck stays in place. Friendly, but not intimate.

Even given how friendly they are now, how it’s normal for him to hear from Lovett once or twice a day, how easily they’ve fallen back into each other’s lives, it’s still a shock when Jon walks into Tommy’s house with Leo racing in front of him and finds Lovett sitting at the table in the dining room with Hanna.

Jon's halfway through a sentence, shouting, “This asshole cut me off in traffic and I swear to God, Tommy, I’m going to fucking — oh.” He stops in the doorway to the dining room. Hanna has her hand propped under her chin and raises her eyebrows when he looks at her.

“Go on,” Lovett prompts and Jon glances over at him once, twice, looks away just as quickly. “What about the asshole in traffic?”

“Nothing. It uh, doesn't matter.” Jon shifts a little where he stands. “What are you guys doing?”

“I decided to stop by and see my best friend, Hanna Koch Vietor.” Lovett grins, easy and casual, at her as she reaches out to pat his arm. “No, we're, uh,” he lowers his voice conspiratorially, “planning for Tommy's birthday.”

“Oh, cool.” Jon settles into the chair across from Hanna. She and Lovett both have wine glasses in front of them and his fingers itch for a glass — wants a stem to twist between his fingers. “Any, uh, anything settled yet?”

“Nothing yet,” Hanna says. “But we —”

Tommy walks in the room behind Lovett and she snaps her mouth shut. “Hey, guys.” He sounds a little uncertain. “What’s going on?”

“I just got here,” Jon informs him as he takes the last seat across from Lovett. “I didn’t have any plans for dinner so —”

Lovett doesn’t offer an explanation, so he must have been here a while, already seen Tommy and explained his presence. Tommy clears his throat, glancing between him and Lovett. “Okay, uh...do you want to get some Postmates? With us?”

Lovett’s watching Jon when he looks over — can’t help it, really. “Yeah,” Jon says carefully, “yeah, I’ll stay.”

It feels almost too much like old times when their food arrives and the four of them settle in the living room, takeout boxes in their laps and the news playing softly in the background because they’ve all fallen away from their usual shows. Jon vaguely remembers Lovett tweeting something about Game of Thrones recently, but he’s long since stopped watching. It’s another harsh reminder that this is just a carbon copy of their old life, like trying to recreate an old photo in a new location.

They make small talk about the company together, Jon and Tommy regaling Lovett with stories from their latest round of hiring. Hanna tolerates the shop talk, sitting with her legs thrown over Tommy’s lap and scrolling through emails on her phone.

Jon’s saved from awkwardly excusing himself when Lovett finishes his food and stands up. “I've left Pundit too long, sorry. See you guys later.”

They all wave as he leaves and Jon fiddles with his fork for long moments before saying, “I'll head out too, I guess.”

He takes his time leaving, helping put away the dishes and letting Lucca and Leo play a little longer.

“How’s friendship?” Tommy finally asks, a little skeptically and apropos of nothing. He twists the dish towel in his hands and leans back against the counter. “Lovett was saying earlier that you guys have been talking.”

Jon shrugs, bites at a hangnail. “Had him edit that speech I’m ghosting for the Congressional candidate in Georgia.”

“You know she’s going to lose, right?” Jon doesn’t bother to respond. Tommy keeps fidgeting with the towel. “I just don’t think this...limbo is good for you. Either of you. You’re either working towards something with him or you’re not and you need to be clear on that.”

“Okay.”

“Jon.” He forces himself to make eye contact with Tommy. “I just want you to think about it. I’m — we’re worried. That’s all.”

“And on that note.” Jon leans over to grab Leo’s leash from where he’d left it on the counter. When he passes Tommy, he pulls him into a quick hug, slapping him on the back. “Night, Tom.”

“Night, buddy. See you tomorrow.”

 

_“I’m not making everyone sing,” Lovett’s disembodied voice says from around the corner, “because that’s the goddamn worst and I like it when our friends like us.”_

_“Oh thank God,” Ira mutters and the room laughs._

_“Okay, I’ll appreciate it anyway,” Jon promises. Hanna’s standing closest to him, drink in hand and he looks up enough to exchange a grin with her. She takes a seat on the arm of the couch and puts a gentle hand on his shoulder. All his people are here — Tommy’s helping Lovett, Andy’s tucked next to Molly on the couch, their mom’s sitting on the floor, phone out and ready._

_He hears the click of the lighter and Tommy turns the lights off in the living room. “Well now it’s awkward because it’s too quiet,” Lovett says as he enters carrying Jon’s cake, face aglow. The candles flicker gently, throwing shadows across the walls._

_It’s too dark and he misses the upturned corner of the rug. It catches his foot and he stumbles. The cake seems to topple forward out of his hands in slow motion. It lands top down, chocolate cake breaking apart and the bottom of the plate staring up at them._

_“Oh, shit.” Tommy says from behind him, holding the cake knife and a stack of dessert plates in his hands._

_Lovett’s staring at the cake in horrified silence. The rest of the room is quiet, awkwardness settling over all of them. Jon stands up from the couch and crosses over to him, stepping over the scraps of cake. “Mother_ fucker _.”_

_“At least our rug isn’t on fire?” Jon asks, then laughs before he can help himself. “Beautiful entrance.”_

_Lovett looks up at him in despair, eyes wide. “Should I pick it up?”_

_“No, just leave it,” Jon reassures him._

_His mom leans over to Hanna and says loudly enough for all of them to hear. “They’re practicing for when they have kids. You get five times clumsier, I swear.”_

_“As long as I don’t drop our kids, right?” Lovett lets Jon pull him into his side, arm around his waist. He’s stiff against him for a minute before he relaxes, a remnant of their fight earlier. Jon can’t even remember what started it — has a vague memory of a dirty dish in the sink and leftovers in the fridge left too long. “I can’t believe I just dropped your fucking birthday cake.”_

_“Everything else is replaceable,” Tim confirms and Jon’s dad, standing next to him, nods sagely. “It'll be a lovely stain though.”_

_“I'll tell everyone that Pundit shit on the rug,” Jon threatens._

_“You get that one, but only because it's your birthday,” Lovett says. “Happy birthday anyway.” He leans up to kiss him and it feels like an apology, as does the quiet “love you” Lovett breathes against his mouth. Jon can dimly hear Andy hoot loudly and a noise that sounds like his mom’s camera shutter._

_“To Jon,” Ira offers, saluting him with his wine glass._

_“To Jon!” Everyone else shouts._

_“I’ll run to the store and get a new cake,” Tommy offers, jingling his keys as he pulls them out of his pocket._

_“Fuck me,” Lovett mutters into Jon’s shirt. Jon just laughs, even though it’s really not funny at all, and runs a hand through his curls._

_“Get more ice cream, Tom!” Andy requests._

_“I’m not Postmates. Come with me,” Tommy retorts and Andy pulls himself up._

_“I’ll go get a garbage bag,” Lovett sighs, pulling away. “Oh, fuck, no chocolate for you, Pundit.” He nudges her away from the cake, then gives up, scooping her up in his arms as Jon’s dad grabs Leo._

_Jon looks down at his husband and kisses him again — dog in his arms and all — just because he can._

 

It's hot for LA. Muggy, even in the bright light. Jon forgot his sunglasses, of course, and (not for the first time) curses California’s lack of rain, when he has to go squinting into the daylight after his pre-dawn Barry’s class, his sweaty shirt sticking to his back. He’s been distracted all morning, just hears Tommy’s voice on a loop: _you’re either working towards something with him or you’re not._

And isn’t that just the dilemma of the day. What _is_ he working for?

He knows that he can’t go back — can’t face another two years without Lovett. He feels a bit like an addict, one hit deep and already coming back for more. He wants it so bad he can taste it — they’ve built a life together before, they can do it again.

 _Too much, Favreau_ , he cautions himself.

Later, he’ll blame it on the endorphin high, on the uncomfortable familiarity of the streets they shared as he walks down the sidewalk, on...anything but this question hanging heavy in the back of his mind.

“Are you dying?” Lovett asks when he answers the phone. “You know that’s the only reason I talk on the phone.”

“I mean, not yet.” A car horn blares next to Jon and he jumps, pressing the phone closer to his ear to hear Lovett.

“What’s up, Jonathan? It’s too early for writers like me. What time is it?”

“Writers like you? What the hell does that even mean? I _know_ you’re late on Brian’s deadline.”

Lovett sighs, long-suffering. “Us Hollywood types keep irregular hours, you know.”

Jon laughs. “No, uh,” he stops walking, ducks into an alleyway to get away from the street noise, “I have...something for you. A question. And just...it would be better in person, I think.”

“Okay.”

Jon scratches the back of his neck, already feeling the soreness from the workout creeping in. “Could I meet you at the dog park?”

“Yeah.” Lovett sounds a little startled. “Don’t you have a company to run though?”

“Right, yeah.” Jon has...so many meetings today. He tries to think through his calendar. “Maybe late this afternoon? I’ll text you when I can duck out.”

“Okay.” Lovett sounds more sure; Jon can practically hear him processing the idea, “Yeah, I’ll see you then.”

 

 _Jon didn’t think he’d be this anxious, god. He twists the ring in his pocket, turning it over and over again between his fingers._ _Every small noise startles him: a car door shutting outside, the coffee maker kicking on, a honk from the street._

 _He shouldn’t be nervous; they’ve discussed their future too much, planned trips months in advance without hesitation. They’ve all_ but _pledged their lives to each other; it’s basically just a legal formality. He’s also debated a million different scenarios for today — talked them over with Tommy and Cody and Dan, his best workshoppers, ad nauseum — before settling on this one. It’s simple, and part of him worries it’s too much so, but it feels right._

_He’s not unprepared, is the main point._

_“Jon?” Lovett’s voice precedes the slam of the door behind him._

_“Hey babe.” Jon leans against the kitchen counter, trying to look natural, after patting the ring in his pocket one more time._

_Lovett appears in the doorway of the kitchen, curls mussed on one side of his head, t-shirt wrinkled. “I'm so_ fucking _glad to be home.” He drops his bag on the ground, the thump punctuating his sentence. He crosses the kitchen quickly, letting Jon pull him close. He smells stale, like too many hours in airports and recycled plane air. “The next time I try to fly Delta, just leave me to die on the tarmac. It’s pretty much the same experience.”_

_“I'm just glad it was you and not me.”_

_Lovett lets out a little groan, burying his head deeper into Jon's t-shirt, one of his hands clutching at the hem. “Remember when I thought extending tour would be fun?”_

_“Vaguely.” Jon smoothes a hand down his back._

_“I’m more tired than I was in the White House. This is bullshit. We travel too much. I miss my bed.”_

_Jon just laughs a little. “I'll talk you down next time.”_

_“Please.” Lovett mimics himself: “‘sure, let's add an extra stop that's just me so my partner can fly home without me over the weekend. That sounds like fun.’”_

_“Yeah, that was a stupid idea.”_

_Lovett laughs too, soft and fond against Jon's chest. “You're going to have to be the one to leave next time. I'm never leaving the house again.”_

_“Followed you out here when you left DC.” Jon shrugs. “I don’t think you’re getting rid of me now.”_

_“Fuck,” Lovett sighs. “Shouldn’t have started a company with you. Guess it’s too late.” His tone is light and he snuggles closer into Jon’s side, like Jon didn’t already know he was joking._

_“You know,” Jon starts, moving one hand into his pocket and fumbling for the loose ring, “I don’t want to get rid of you.”_

_“Me either,” Lovett says absently, swallowing a yawn._

_“I mean it,” he insists, letting Lovett go and taking a step backward, creating just enough space between them. Lovett watches him carefully._

_“I know.”_

_“I mean it,” Jon says again and pulls the ring out of his pocket, his hand shaking. He sinks to one knee in front of Lovett, the slim silver band glinting._

_“Jon Lovett,” he says, and his voice breaks. “I don’t, uh,” he gets choked up and has to take a breath, “I don’t want to get rid of you. And I don’t want you to leave. I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”_

_“Yes,” Lovett interrupts. He sinks to his knees across from him, hands already outstretched._

_“I haven’t asked yet.”_

_Lovett’s eyes are shiny too. “Just preempting you here.”_

_Jon laughs, feeling a tear slip down his cheek. “Okay. Okay.” His hand’s still shaking and he redoubles his grip on the ring. “Will you marry me?”_

_“Yes.” Lovett reaches for him — “wait, wrong hand” — letting Jon slide the ring on. It’s a little too big, passing easily over his knuckle, but Lovett doesn’t seem to care, grabbing his face to pull him into a kiss. Jon isn’t balanced on his knee, sways a little at the force and nearly topples over. Lovett laughs, joyful in the morning sunshine, and stretches his hand between them to look at the ring._

_“I want to get old with you,” Lovett whispers, tilting their foreheads against each other as he runs his thumb over the band. “And build our company together. And make legally binding decisions with you.”_

_Jon laughs, kissing him again. “I think the legally binding decision part has already passed, co-founder.”_

_“More legally binding decisions, then. All of them. Give me some contracts. I’ll sign them all.”_

_“I’ll give you whatever you want.”_

_“Gross,” Lovett teases. “But I’ll take them.”_

_“All the contracts — I heard.”_

_“Wanna go buy a house?”_

_Jon tilts his head. “I heard something about a nap?”_

_“Yes, that’s a better plan.” Lovett stands and helps Jon to his feet. “I’m so lucky to be marrying someone so smart.” He starts to walk backward, tugging Jon along with a finger hooked into one of his belt loops. “God, the tax benefits are going to be_ great. _”_

_“That cannot be what you’re thinking about right now.”_

_“Joint filings,” Lovett says dreamily, “and — and writeoffs — and TurboTax.” He’s laughing by the time Jon cages him against the bedroom wall._

 

Leo recognizes the park as they approach and strains forward against his harness, nails scratching at the ground. Jon opens the first gate, takes off his leash, and has barely opened the second before Leo’s wiggling through the gap and racing across the turf. 

Jon sees Pundit first, then spots Lovett standing in the shade in his baseball hat and aviators, Diet Coke hanging loosely from one hand.

“Hey,” he calls up to him as he approaches. He knows better than to startle Lovett.

“Hey.” Lovett greets him with a gentle smile. “It’s nice to be out of the house.”

“Still haven’t made your deadline yet?”

“I will leave,” Lovett threatens without any heat behind it. “I’m here to ignore all my responsibilities and I don’t appreciate being reminded of it.”

Jon grins lazily at him. “So you're having a good week?”

“It's...fuck, what day is it?”

“Thursday.”

“Huh, definitely would have shown up to the Improv tonight.”

“Good thing you saw me, then.”

“Yeah,” Lovett says, squinting up at him. “Good thing. Speaking of, what do you want?”

Jon doesn’t answer at first, tracking the dogs across the park. He hasn’t...rehearsed this enough. He spent the whole day obsessing over this moment, practicing different ways this conversation could play out, rehearsing talking points and timelines like he’s presenting a dissertation and getting a PhD in Jonathan Ira Lovett. But now he’s standing here and he’s forgotten all his points.

He twists Leo’s tennis ball between his hands, feeling the fuzz scrape against his palms. “I uh — Tommy asked me —”

“Yeah?” Lovett prompts when he trails off. Fuck, this isn’t how he planned for this to go.

“What are we doing, Lovett?”

“We’re at the dog park,” he says.

“Jon.”

Lovett shrugs. “I don’t — I have no idea. There’s not exactly a play book here.” He’s retreating already; Jon can feel him pulling back, scooting backwards away from their conversation. “Why?”

“I think we need to talk about it,” Jon says carefully. “About this...about us. And where we're going.”

“I don’t.”

“Of course not,” Jon says, immediately defensive.

“ _Hey_.” Lovett sounds genuinely hurt.

Jon sways a step back, searching for space. The conversation feels like it’s spiraling wildly away from him and out of his control. “I just...want to make sure we’re on the same page.”

“The same page about what?” Lovett shifts, hands shoved deep in his pockets. “I don’t...we’re just...we’re finally friends again, Jon. Why are you pushing this?” He reaches up, tugs at his hat.

Jon wants to shrug, cop out. He wants to blame this on Tommy. He wants to rewind and pretend this never happened, take back the phone call this morning, and just leave this the fuck alone. But he’s also in too deep now. “I just don’t know — I don’t know how to be friends with you. I can’t...I need more.” God, he feels _pathetic_ saying this out loud. He feels worse still when Lovett doesn’t respond right away, letting the silence drag between them.

“What are you suggesting, exactly?” Lovett says, careful and measured.

“I don’t know. Something different. Something more.”

Lovett’s face closes off, shutters sliding back in place. “This is where we are. There's not exactly room for ‘I don’t know.’” And _god,_ Jon's forgotten how Lovett gets like this: how the math side of his brain kicks in and he can only focus on concrete details and facts — things that don't leave any room for interpretation.

“I wanted to —” He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated “—I just wanted to ask.”

“Done.” Lovett’s sunglasses are still in place. Jon can see himself reflected back in them. “I’ve heard you.”

“Have you?” Jon demands, suddenly grateful for the shadowed, forgotten corner of the dog park that they’ve tucked themselves into. He wants to keep this private, hidden away. “God, how do we always end up _here_?”

He knows he doesn’t need to explain what he means — that they’re both remembering the last few, painful, miserable months of their marriage: the fights over dinner, the times it was just easier not to say good night and just go to sleep in silence, each time they pretended everything was fine until they couldn’t ignore it any more.

“Things were good. For the last few months,” Lovett observes quietly, less heat behind the words. “What do you want from me, Jon?”

There's a moment where Jon hesitates and Lovett pulls off his sunglasses, turning them over in his hands. He opens one of the arms, closes it again, fiddles with the nose piece.

“I want what we used to have,” Jon admits, anxiety filling his stomach. He feels nauseous, and maybe a little light-headed. “Before...all of it.”

"So your solution to being mad at me is to get married?"

"I didn't say — I'm not mad at you.”

“It's only been three months and you want...so much from me.” Lovett’s breath has gone shallow. “It's been two years of — of nothing and then suddenly, you're back and I'm not ready—”

“I'm not asking _for_ anything. I don't want anything from you.” Jon's tired, _so_ tired.

"You've been doing just fine without me for the last two years."

“That doesn't mean I didn't miss you,” Jon says in a rush. “Every single — god, Jon, every day. And — and this is ridiculous, we’re just going in circles. What do _you_ want? What do you want, Lovett? Are you fine with friendship? _Just_ friendship? Because you keep coming back to me too. Do you _really_ not miss me at all? Am I the only one here?”

“I miss you,” Lovett says, has to turn away and press a hand over his mouth. Jon can see him cracking, bumping up against his breaking point. The breeze picks up and the rustle of the palms almost covers up the little gasp Lovett makes as he pulls himself back together. “I've missed you since the day you left me in that fucking parking lot.” He takes a deep breath, chest heaving like it's his first breath since that day. They've spent years sharing everything — he's seen Lovett sad, mad, sick, sleep deprived...and still, Jon feels like he's seeing something he's not supposed to — like Lovett’s slipped and shown his cards too early. He should look away, but he can't, can't resist the peek at his hand, the pull of insider knowledge, the lure of the win.

“God, I miss you so much it hurts. And it scares me sometimes,” Lovett continues and it feels like something heavy settles in Jon's lungs at his words. “It scares me how overwhelming this is.” He visibly has to pull himself together, crosses an arm across his stomach. “It's overwhelming to be near you.”

Jon can’t help himself — he’s lost control of his body as he reaches out for Lovett, brushing their hands together. Lovett shakes his hand, takes a firm, determined step back. “I can’t. I can't be just friends with you either. And I’m not...I’m not ready for anything else.”

“So I guess this is where we are,” Jon says eventually.

“I guess so,” Lovett says. The dogs take another lap past them, panting joyfully and their faces covered in mud, a border collie and weimaraner in hot pursuit. He snaps his fingers when they head for the nearest water bowl. “Come on, Pundit.”

She looks up at him, tail wagging slowly. Lovett looks at her and snaps his fingers again. “Come _on_ , Pundit.”

She follows him relunctantly towards the gate, tail drooping when she realizes theyret leaving. They weave between the other dogs and scattered clumps of people and Lovett looks back a few times to make sure she's still at his heels. Not for the first time since their split, Jon has to scoop Leo up, hold him tightly against his chest so he won't follow.

 

 

_They’re walking out to the car and before he can talk himself out of bringing it up, Jon says, “Hey, Jon, I need an answer on the surrogate thing.” There’s a solid foot of space between them and Lovett’s barely making eye contact with him._

_“I don’t have one yet.”_

_“When will you?”_

_Lovett sighs, exasperated. “I don’t know, Jon.”_

_“Well I can’t make plans with ‘I don’t know.’”_

_“What plans, exactly, do you have to make?” He’s getting frustrated, Jon can hear it building in his voice._

_“I don’t know — getting this whole thing started, meetings, something,_ anything. _” They’ve stopped walking and turned to face each other. It feels like they're squaring off. Something starts to run through Jon's blood. Adrenaline, maybe. It's like his body's constantly on edge now, primed for a fight at a second’s notice._

_“I just — I need a minute,” Lovett says, turning away from him. “I can’t think about this right now.”_

_“Why not?” Jon demands. “It’s not like — this is all we talk about! This is all I_ think _about, Jon. I just —” he groans in frustration, “need a goddamn answer from you for_ once. _”_

_“Stop acting like I don't want this just as much as you do!”_

_“What?” He's too emotional, can't think clearly enough to parse double negatives. “You don’t act like it sometimes.”_

_“It's not like...I want a life with you. I do.”_

_“But you don't want to make a decision! You want to drag your heels and put it off until it's on_ me _to decide. You want to pretend you've missed emails and like you don't have an opinion and just wait for everyone else to pick up the slack!”_

 _“You realize we can't even have a conversation any more? We don't do anything except discuss this! You don't know how to give me what I'm asking for! I want space and time to think about this — this life changing decision we're making — and you push in closer! You're_ suffocating _, Jon. You’re suffocating_ me _.”_

_Jon has to walk away. His bag hangs heavily on his shoulder and he kicks at the ground. They're...Jesus, they're having this fight in the fucking office parking lot. He's sure the staff, lingering too late at their desks, can hear parts of this, echoing into their building. It stinks back here, like dumpsters and exhaust and city. There's an abandoned chair, probably from one of the interior design places littered down the street, tipped over on it's side. He stares at it for a long moment before turning back._

_“Well, sorry I can't wait to have a family with you,” he bites out. It's bitter and harsh in his mouth. “Sorry that I don't want to be waiting much longer to have a baby. Did you forget we're almost 40?” The age point is a low blow. He can see it land when Lovett cringes away and then rallies._

_“No, I didn't_ forget _,” he snaps. “I just — I need a break! I need time, I need space, and I don't know how many times I can keep asking for it before you fucking listen_. _”_

_“Fine,” Jon says, crossing his arms over his chest, facing off against Lovett. “Fine. Here's your break. You can walk home, right?”_

_Lovett looks stunned. “I...guess so. Yes.”_

_“Great.” Jon climbs in his car, starts the engine, and navigates his way out of the narrow driveway without looking back._

_He doesn’t drive home, turns his phone off and heads for the beach instead, following the freeway out to Santa Monica._

_The sun’s setting past the water and it hurts to look at it, but he stares out at the waves until he sees sun spots when he closes his eyes. The pier is crowded with tourists, trickling out over the sand where he’s sitting, and he pretends he can’t hear the peddlers selling mangos and beach towels._

_It gets chilly as the sun disappears, the temperature dropping quickly. He stays until dark, waiting until his fingers and toes turn numb and his stomach starts growling before he turns back. The lot is much emptier, but he can’t remember where he parked his car. He has to check each level, climbing up sticky stairwells that smell like piss and are littered with cigarette butts._

_When he turns his phone back on, it’s to four missed calls from Lovett and another two from Tommy. There’s a series of text messages and voicemails, but he checks his texts first. It just feels easier._

_He skims the ones from Lovett, stopping when he reaches the last few:_

I can’t believe this is where we are. This isn’t a marriage any more.

I can’t do this.

I don’t know why you left, but don’t bother coming home.

 

He works late one night — can't face the idea of going back home until he’s yawning so hard his eyes water. Brian and Priyanka are bent over their computers, a few others scattered around at their desks. He should send them home, exert his executive privileges or whatever, but it’s nice, working in this companionable silence together. The lock clicking back startles them all and Jon’s head jerks up as the door creaks open. Lovett slips in, shutting the door behind him. Jon forgot he still had keys. The room stays quiet, watching him.

“Can I have the room, guys?” Lovett asks, hovering nervously by the door.

“Yeah, I should go home anyway,” Brian says. He stands and slips his laptop into his bag before leaving. Jon stands too, crosses around the desk until he can lean against it. He stands with his arms crossed, legs crossed at the ankle. The other stragglers murmur their excuses and follow him out, escaping as quickly as possible until the office is empty and echoingly silent as they watch each other.

“I stopped by your apartment first,” Lovett starts, twisting his hands in front of him, “but you weren't there...obviously.”

“No,” Jon kicks at the leg of the desk, “no, I was working on uh...stuff here.”

“Yeah.” Lovett’s mouth twists, anxiety heavy on his features. “We should probably stop meeting like this.”

“You came here,” Jon points out.

“Yeah, I did.” Lovett takes a cautious step closer. “It was uh, my turn to engage, I guess.” Jon stays quiet, waits him out. “I don't like how we left things,” he says finally.

“Me either.”

Lovett nods a little, almost to himself. “Okay. Okay, good.”

“Okay,” Jon says slowly, waiting for him to say something else, letting the silence linger between them.

“Can you —” Lovett huffs, frustrated. “Come here.”

He's crossing the room, closing the distance in clipped, urgent strides. There's a moment where Jon can feel his heartbeat ringing in his ears. He could move toward him or move away, but it's never even a choice.

It feels like muscle memory to fit his hands around Lovett’s waist, to bend down so he can reach him. Lovett’s arms circle his neck, straining up on his tiptoes.

It feels like home.

He pulls Lovett backwards until they hit the desk behind him. He doesn't let go, keeps Lovett tight against him. They’re kissing like they never stopped. Lovett stays planted between his legs, holding on tightly.

Jon finally pulls away to breathe, leaning their foreheads together and letting his fingertips trace their way down Lovett’s back. “I missed you.”

“You said that the other day.” Lovett takes a breath, gets more earnest. “I know. Me too.”

“Okay, good,” Jon repeats back to him, letting Lovett press close.

They kiss until Jon’s dizzy with it, his head swimming. He reacquaints himself with Lovett’s body, his hands roaming across the expanse of his back, the dip of his waist. Lovett’s the one to pull away next, his mouth swollen and his hair sticking out at odd angles.

“I told you I couldn’t be just friends with you.” He strokes a thumb along the curve of Jon’s mouth, the jut of his lip. His tone is gentle, in the way that reminds Jon of sleepy Sunday mornings and long road trips up the coast.

“I hope you aren’t like this with your friends,” Jon teases. He leans forward to kiss him again, wet and hot and messy.

Lovett makes a noise deep in his throat, maybe a laugh. “No.” His hand’s high up on Jon’s thigh, thumb stroking teasingly at his inseam. “No, just you.”

“Yeah,” Jon whispers, overwhelmed at the quiet confession. “Just you too.”

“Everything got so messed up,” Lovett says quietly before he kisses Jon again, his free hand gentle against his jaw. Jon can only nod. He feels consumed by all the places they’re touching: his thighs bracketing Lovett’s hips, Lovett’s hands on his face and his leg, Jon’s hands circling one of his biceps, the other fisted in the material around Lovett’s waist.

“We shouldn’t,” Jon says the next time they break apart. “Not here, not tonight.” He has to force it out, around the weight on his chest, and even though Lovett’s thumb on his thigh is so, so close to where he wants it to be.

“No, we shouldn’t.” Lovett says quietly. “You’re right.”

Jon doesn’t want to let him go, says quietly and urgently, “Just not tonight.”

“Yeah,” Lovett bites away a smile and kisses him quickly, just a hard press of their lips, before he steps back. “We’re on the same page now?”

“On the same page.”

 

_When Jon gets home, the house is dark and still. He shuts the front door and kicks his shoes off. He drops his bag in the kitchen, then moves toward their bedroom._

_He stops when he spots Lovett, curled up in the armchair by the front window. The floor lamp behind him is illuminating the space, casting shadows over Lovett’s face. He’s asleep, head propped on his fist and book open in his lap, socked feet propped on the ottoman. Jon hesitates before moving to take the book and Lovett stirs awake at the motion._

_“Hey,” he says, voice thick and gravelly, “you’re home.”_

_Jon takes a seat on the ottoman, moving Lovett’s feet to his lap. “Yeah, dinner with Josh ran long. We got drinks after.”_

_Lovett makes a soft humming noise, his eyes still heavy-lidded with sleep. “Was it good?”_

_“Yeah.” Jon glances down at the book he’d pulled away from Lovett. “Good reading?”_

_It’s a parenting book. Jon can see where Lovett’s already turned down a few of the page corners and torn notches in some of the pages halfway down, denoting specific passages._

_“‘_ Does This Baby Make Me Look Straight?: Confessions of a Gay Dad.'" _He reads aloud, then snorts. “Good question.”_

_“Can’t wait for a whole new era of coming out of the closet again.” Lovett says with a wry smile. “I’ll have to prepare some answers to all the questions about where the mom is.”_

_“Not sure how likely that is to happen in West Hollywood.”_

_“Ira says the straights are invading.”_

_“If he says so.” Jon flips open the book with one hand, keeping the other resting on Lovett’s ankles. “Any good advice yet?”_

_“Just reassuring me that I’m not ready yet. So like, that’s a great and fun time.” He laughs a little hollowly, rubbing a hand across his eyes. “But if Miller can do it, I guess we’ll be okay. And we’ve got a lot of time before we have to worry about it anyway.”_

_“Yeah,” Jon says absently, skimming down the page, “I guess we do.”_


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big, BIG thanks and all my love to the Brain Trust who helped me get this fic over the finish line.
> 
> In Important Chapter Notes, most of these flashbacks are continued from previous scenes in the fic so uh...I recommend refreshing your memory?
> 
> Thanks for hanging with me for this yikes amount of time. xoxo

The streets are nearly empty in the dusk-tinged dark, small groups of people clumped around open bar doors and lingering on street corners. It takes five minutes when one group crosses against the light and Jon gets trapped in the left turn lane for another full cycle, but finally, _finally_ , he’s pulling into his garage.

He barely remembers to lock his car before he’s taking the stairs from parking lot to his floor, too impatient to be home. His laptop bag hits against his leg with every alternating step and he’s clenching the pizza in his arms so tightly the cardboard bites into his fingers, but it still feels like he's in a dream — moving without the full awareness of even having done so. He finally hits the fourth floor panting and out of breath. It's worth it when he sees a shadowy figure sitting outside his door.

“God, finally.” Lovett complains, climbing to his feet. He groans and stretches his arms above his head. His sneakers glow a deep purple in the dark. “I can’t believe how long you left me sitting out here. I should just go home, but I kept thinking you’d be here _any minute_ —”

“Don’t you dare,” Jon says mildly, reaching around him to unlock the door. “I ordered our pizza before I left the office, picked it up on the way, hit traffic... so we’ve already invested too much time in this.” The _we_ slips out naturally, without thinking.

“Good pizza?” Lovett asks suspiciously, following him in.

“Of course,” Jon tells him. “I don’t serve _you_ subpar pizza.”

His retort makes Lovett laugh a little in surprise as he leans down to pet Leo hello. “I uh, finally trained you?”

“I’m a quick learner,” Jon says, going through the motions: puts his computer bag on the dining table, hangs his keys up, kicks off his shoes. When he’s divested all his shit, he looks back at Lovett, who’s watching Jon with an unfamiliar look in his eyes.

“What?”

Lovett shrugs. “You’re still the same. Even in this new space. Same routine.”

Jon doesn’t know what to say to that and once he's stopped moving, the apartment feels smaller, the anxiety-fueled adrenaline fading away. He's not used to sharing the space, even as Lovett sets his own bag down on top of Jon’s and takes a step closer. He reaches up to smooth a thumb over the arch of Jon’s eyebrow, pulling gently at the skin. His crow's feet look deeper this close and maybe the years have worn on him too. “I didn’t say it was a bad thing; don’t look so worried.”

“I'm not —” Jon laughs uncomfortably, a giveaway. “Not worried.”

Lovett looks back over at him and Jon can’t help but feel exposed. He's assessing, categorizing, cataloging Jon. “Maybe a little worried?”

Jon shuffles in place. “A little.”

“Yeah. Anyway, you’ve done that as long as I’ve known you.”

They watch each other for a long minute, gazes flickering over too-familiar features.

Lovett claps his hands together, turning away. “Okay, it’s too quiet. What are we watching tonight? Did you finish _Friday Night Lights_ again without me?”

“For the second or third time?”

“ _Monster_ ,” Lovett says, already flopping on Jon’s couch and reaching for the remote on the coffee table. His tone is part rebuke and part admiration. “In that case, we’re picking up where I am.”

Jon settles on the couch next to him, pizza in hand, and slings his other arm around the back of the couch. He leaves a careful distance — not _quite_ touching Lovett — in a move that feels reminiscent of his high school days. “Okay.”

 

 

_They float around each other for the rest of the day, once Lovett drags them out of bed. There are still Goldfish crumbled in the sheets, a strange reminder of the night before._ I kissed Lovett _, Jon keeps repeating to himself, as if he could possibly forget. Lovett makes them coffee and toasts some bagels he pulls from a random cabinet. He also slides the sugar over to Jon with minimal fussing about how he’s ruining the structural integrity of his coffee. It’s nice, but Jon wouldn’t really have minded more fussing._

_Instead, Lovett just watches him over the rim of his own mug. Jon stretches a foot out, taps it against Lovett’s bare ankle. It’s a tentative step into murky waters and something in his chest tightens momentarily, fear clutching tight. But then Lovett smiles into his cup, hands curled around the warmth protectively. His smile’s so forceful it makes his eyes squint tighter. The sun is bright in the kitchen, the palm trees outside a stark contrast to the evergreens Jon left behind in DC. The fear in his ribcage relaxes as Lovett knocks his ankle into the arch of Jon’s foot. It’s as casual as can be, but Jon feels like he’s just collapsed over a finish line, when he didn’t even know he was running a race._

_What a strange boundary they’ve suddenly crossed — to be able to reach out and tug Lovett in for a kiss just...when he feels like it, when the thought crosses his mind, when he’s within arm’s reach._

_It’s uncomfortable at first, little alarm bells going off when he reaches out, brings his mouth to Lovett’s. It’s years of restraining himself kicking into action — years of looking the other way, of pushing down...whatever his feelings are. Now that he thinks about it, there were so many times — more than he even knew in the moment. When Lovett would edit a joke for the tenth time, chewing on his lower lip until it bled, striving to hit just the right word. The certain confidence Jon felt in that first meeting, in the transitory chaos of the transition offices, when they'd cautiously examined each other across the desk. The tug he'd felt somewhere behind his lungs when Lovett walked into his windowless White House office and said he was leaving in September, pale and anxious and resolute._

_But Lovett comes willingly to him every time, tilts his face up to meet Jon. He can feel Lovett’s smile in their kisses, treasures the way his hand presses against Jon’s forearm when he balances himself forward. Still, slowly, it feels more natural, more comfortable. His heart stops pounding so hard he can hear it ringing in his ears._

_And gradually, the hesitation wears away, sliding right into something bigger than two of them._

_They walk out to a restaurant near Lovett’s house, wandering down the street together, dodging foot traffic, bus stops, and construction. Jon lets Lovett lead, still entirely disoriented by West Hollywood. He hangs back as the sidewalk narrows. Without even looking back, Lovett reaches out and grabs his hand, tugging him along behind him._

 

 

_They're halfway up the canyon and it's excruciatingly hot. Jon's soaked in sweat and his sunglasses keep slipping down the bridge of his nose. Every few steps, he has to push them back up. Lovett’s red-faced, flushed with the heat, and they're both breathing heavily._

_The muscles in Jon's legs ache as he pushes himself farther up the incline. “This was a better idea three hours ago,” he pants and Lovett huffs a breathless laugh._

_“We can't bring the dogs next time. I feel out of shape enough without them.”_

_“Deal,” Jon agrees, stepping over Pundit as she races back down the hill and barrels straight between his ankles. She wheels around and gallops back up to where Leo's waiting._

_Lovett’s watching them too, keeps his eyes trained away when he says, “Have you ever thought about having kids?”_

_It's not the ache in his legs that has Jon tripping over air, stumbling forward over nothing, but Lovett graciously pretends not to see. “I, uh — physically? Myself?”_

_Lovett snorts. “Is that a separate conversation we need to have? Just not —” he tugs at the collar of his shirt “— now, when we’re hiking in Los Angeles on the hottest fucking day of the year.” He falls silent again, kicks a rock away._

_“I’ve thought about it.”_

_Lovett stops when Jon speaks, just grinds to a halt where he’s standing. The dogs hang close by, sniffing at the sparse brush. He’s sweaty and dusty, his gray sneakers colored red with dirt. He looks so young, so_ hopeful _. Jon stops too, puts his hands on his hips. There’s sweat in his eyes and dripping down the small of his back. The canyon’s quiet around them, the brush rustling in a light breeze — it’s a Wednesday morning, and he’s grateful for the stillness (and the flexibility of their writing schedules). He knows Lovett’s been percolating this thought — has timed this so they’re alone, so neither of them can get away._

_“You have?”_

_“Of_ course _I have.” Jon’s still breathless and it feels like there are fucking knots in his calf muscles. He leans into a lunge, propping a forearm on his knee. “Haven’t you?”_

_Lovett laughs a little. “Yeah, you could say that.”_

_“Are you — now?”_

_He shrugs — a quick jerk of his shoulder. “In the future, I think. It would be good to...start the conversation, at least. I figured.”_

_“Yeah,” Jon echoes._

_“Just...I think we’re good.” Lovett shades his eyes with a hand. “Like, us.”_

_Jon thinks of the ring tucked away in his glove box, the ring he’s been driving around with for two months. He also makes a mental note to move it somewhere safer. “Yeah, I think we’re solid.”_

_Lovett squints at him, grins a little. “Solid.”_

_Jon laughs, can’t fucking help it. “What would you call it?”_

_Lovett’s smile widens — a real one, not the close-lipped sheepish smile he pulls out for cameras. “Solid works.”_

_“Can we talk about this —” Jon gestures for the water bottle in Lovett’s hand and he passes it, their fingers brushing “— when I don’t feel like you’re about to have to take me to the hospital?”_

_Lovett nods and he looks...relieved, like he’s set down something Jon didn’t know he was carrying. “Race you up the canyon?”_

_“Fuck_ off _,” Jon groans, holding a stitch in his side. When Lovett cackles with delight, the canyon very softly echoes his laugh back to them._

 

 

_They drive out to the Burbank Ikea on a Sunday, with the rest of the population of Los Angeles._

_Jon can remember road trips with his family as a kid, driving down the coast, armed with snacks and cassette tapes. He’d rest his forehead on the cool window until his breath formed bubbles of condensation and watch the landscape pass in a blur of colors._

_Traffic in Los Angeles is the antithesis of that._

_Boxes are crammed in their backseat, one of the corners wedging its way into Jon’s back. Lovett’s slid his seat up almost as far as it’ll go, his knees nearly tucked into his chest. They creep along in the blazing sun, too slowly to kick the air conditioning up to full capacity._

_“I’m going to die in the Valley,” Lovett moans, leaning against the partially open window. The curls above his ears spiral even tighter with sweat. “All the places in California to die and I’m going to perish in the_ Valley _.”_

_“We’re basically out of the Valley though.”_

_“It’s the whole,” Lovett waves a hand, “premise of the thing.”_

_“I’ll drive your body somewhere else,” Jon promises. “If you die in the Valley.”_

_Lovett laughs and it takes him a minute to reel it back in. “Until death do us part and all. See, we’re already living out our vows. Wanna check ‘in sickness’ off next?”_

_Jon sets his left hand on the wheel and runs a thumb over his ring. It still feels new, heavy on his skin when he thinks about it too hard. “We should have just ordered these,” he grumbles instead, easing off the brake to inch further down the 101. Their exit is in view and he cuts around an 18-wheeler._

_“No!” Lovett protests as they finally turn off the freeway. “The meatballs, getting lost, wandering through those weird tiny apartments with the beds that someone’s definitely fucked in — it’s part of the experience!”_

_Jon isn’t so sure, but he lets Lovett complain about it for the half hour it takes them to get home. (The Ikea rant only lasts another ten minutes, but then his segue into how children behave in public takes the last twenty.)_

_They get the boxes out of the backseat and stacked in the kitchen, then Lovett surveys the pile for a moment with his hands on his hips, reaches for the nearest box and rips it open._

_“Do you need like...some tools?” Jon asks, hovering nearby._

_Lovett takes a seat on the ground, gently shooing Pundit away when she comes over to sniff his ear inquisitively, tail wagging. “Like what?”_

_“A —” Jon fumbles for the terminology “— a drill or a hammer or something?”_

_Lovett leers at him. “Always.” Jon can feel himself flush, but Lovett carries on. “No, I think I should be okay. But it’s not like you would know a screwdriver even if I drew you a picture, babe.”_

_Jon frowns at him, then also takes a seat on the floor and reaches for the instructions._

_They only get in three bickering matches before the bar stools are fully assembled. One of the seats breaks when Jon tries to stomp it into place, Allen wrench cast aside. He looks down at it despairingly. “We’ll return it,” Lovett says reassuringly. “Say it came out of the box defective.”_

_“I think there’s a shoe print.”_

_“Have you never watched me try to get a free meal before? It's probably the same concept here.”_

_They drag them in front of the island and Lovett fusses over the placement, stepping back to make sure they’re evenly spaced along the counter. Jon lets him, standing back with his arms crossed as Lovett flits down the line of stools. They’ve been together long enough that they’ve made big purchases together — a new bed, a couch — but something about this, with the marriage license locked in the safe and the ring on his finger feels_ settled _._

 

 

They eat pizza until Lovett’s lips turn shiny with grease. He groans a little when they push the empty box onto the coffee table, slumping down on the couch and leaning against Jon’s shoulder. The show fades into the background as the next episode loads.

“You’re right, that was good pizza.” Leo hops up next to him and Lovett grumbles a little at the added weight, but pulls him into his lap anyway. Jon carefully doesn't move when Lovett smoothes the fur away from Leo's face and mumbles, “Missed you, buddy.” Leo helpfully licks his face.

Jon grins down at the two of them and his fingers twitch toward Lovett’s shoulder, itching to make contact. “I told you.”

Lovett laughs and the vibration ripples through the couch. “Don’t be a brat about it. I had to sit out in the elements and wait while you drove the pizza in your fancy ass, air-conditioned, over priced—”

“You’ve been insulting me a lot tonight.”

Lovett snaps his mouth shut mid-rant. “It’s how I show my affection.”

Jon props his foot on the coffee table and when their knees knock together, it’s not _not_ on purpose. “I do actually know that about you.”

 

 

_“Do you think you’re going to be a good dad?” He asks into the darkness. Lovett makes a sleepy noise next to him. It’s not an answer. “I think you will.”_

_“I think we’ll be good parents,” Lovett mumbles, half his face pressed into his pillow._

_“Do you?” He twists over to face Lovett, even though he can’t see him in the dark. “I just —” He cuts himself off, then finds bravery in the dark. “What if they don’t like us?” It’s almost a whisper._

_“Our kids will like us.”_

_“I mean,” he stumbles a little — doesn’t even want to put words to this knot of anxiety in his chest. “I mean, the agency. What if they don’t pick us?”_

_“Oh.” Lovett stops. “I don’t — that’s not—”_

_“I’m just saying I’m worried about it.” It feels silly even as he says it._

_“Well, don’t,” Lovett sighs. “It’ll — we had fucking security clearances, it’ll be fine.” He turns away, shifts down against the mattress, his shoulders hunched in the dark. It’s a clear end to the conversation, but Jon stays awake, quiet next to him and thinking about the faceless person in an office somewhere, reviewing an unmarked file and deciding the future of his family._

 

 

_Jon shoves the vacuum in the closet, trying to stuff it behind the coats. He doesn’t even know why they still own so many jackets in a city where it doesn’t drop below 60 degrees and he’s contemplating them when the vacuum overbalances and clatters to the floor at his feet._

_“You okay?” Lovett shouts distantly._

_“Yeah.”_

_“What?”_

_Jon rights the vacuum and manages to shut the door before it falls back out. He wanders into the kitchen where Lovett’s standing at the counter, his back to Jon. “Yeah, I’m fine.”_

_“Okay, good.”_

_He doesn’t feel like cleaning any more, settles onto the nearest stool, watching Lovett move in sharp, abrupt movements. He’s semi-graceful on stage, in his element. In the kitchen, less so. “So, I’ve been thinking.”_

_Lovett stills, just a brief pause. “About what?”_

_“The surrogate...the ones we looked at last night?”_

_Lovett snorts. “The Tinder for babies? Honestly, there’s probably a market there. What if Elon Musk chose to invest in conception issues instead of sending shit to the moon? Improving Los Angeles traffic, my ass.”_

_He’s working himself up to a rant, but Jon cuts him off. “I liked the one who worked in craft services.”_

_“Well someone in our family should know how to cook,” Lovett says, a little dismissively._

_“I don’t know if that transfers if she’s just the surrogate. I think that’s more an egg donor thing.”_

_“Maybe they can switch.”_

_“I don't think that's how it works.”_

_Lovett doesn't look up. “Could be if we asked.”_

_“You’re too – how can you be casual about this?” Jon asks and he thinks it might come out angrier than he intends, but it hangs between them._  

_“Why are you so wound up about it?” Lovett demands, waving a hand in a gesture Jon can’t decipher._

_“Because — because it’s our future family!”_

_“I’m aware.” His tone is edging on frosty and Jon turns his gaze down to the counter, idly drawing invisible patterns._

_“I’m just_ saying _.”_

_“You never ‘just say’ anything, Jon.” Lovett swears quietly under his breath, but whether it's at Jon or whatever he's doing, he's not sure._

_“Fine,” Jon says, standing._

_“No, didn’t you want to talk about this? Don’t walk away.” Lovett finally turns to face him, revealing the cake in front of him. “You want to talk? Let’s talk.” It’s confrontational and angry and Jon wants to both push closer and back away._

_“If you want this,” Jon takes a step closer, stretching out a hand for emphasis until he’s nearly touching Lovett, “then want it with me.”_

_Lovett makes a frustrated sound. “Of course I want this.”_

_“Then why won’t you –“_

_Lovett cuts over him: “I go from zero to one hundred. You_ know _that. I’m_ trying _not to do that here, so you need to stop pushing me.”_

_“It's my birthday, don't fucking yell at me,” Jon says, hurt and defensive._

_“Congratulations, you're still an asshole, even on your birthday,” Lovett snaps back._

_“I'm the asshole here?”_

_Lovett makes a gruff noise, turning back to shove more icing in the white bag he’s holding. It catches Jon off guard. “What are you doing?”_

_Lovett squares his shoulders, picking up the piping bag and bending close to the cake on the counter. He’s gritted his teeth, so each word is punctuated. “Susiecakes fucked up the inscription so I’m fucking –“ he moves the bag carefully across the cake “—fixing it. That’s what I’m doing.”_

_Jon can recognize when he’s lost a battle; he sighs a little and steps back towards the living room. “Okay.”_  

_“People will be here in forty five minutes.” Lovett calls after him. It might be a warning._

 

 

_They have to go to a capital E Event one night. The kind that calls for suits and ties and handling tiny plates with tinier food. The kind that means making carefully guarded political small talk with old men who have more money than they could ever hope to have._

_Tommy escapes the office early with a quick smile and an easy “See you there?”, Lovett stays at the studio to finish recording, and Jon goes home to get dressed in a silent house._

_Not that it gets any noisier when Lovett gets home. He doesn’t hear the front door, but vaguely registers Lovett greeting the dogs in a murmur. His husband's home, at least. There's a strange sense of dread curling in his stomach when he hears Lovett’s footsteps approaching. He glances up when Lovett appears in the doorway to the bedroom._

_“Hey,” he says quietly, hands frozen on his bowtie. Over, under, grab the loop._

_“Hey,” Lovett echoes, then turns away to grab his suit. The dry-cleaning bag rustles as he pulls it from the closet and with another rustle, he disappears into the bathroom._

_Jon turns back to the mirror, tilting his chin up to fumble with the tie at his neck. It feels stiff and awkward and his fingers are too big. Lovett emerges from the bathroom in his suit, tie already tied. Jon catches his eye in the mirror, forgets how to look away. Lovett doesn't offer to help, just watches for a second before he bends to get his dress shoes out of the closet._

_Jon gets the bow tied successfully, adjusts it. He turns away from the mirror, looking toward Lovett. He coughs a little, but Lovett doesn’t look up. “Are we driving or Lyfting?” Jon finally asks, just to break the silence. Lovett finally finishes tying his shoes, stands and smoothes his hands over the front of his pants._

_“Doesn’t matter to me,” he says flatly and walks past Jon to the living room._

 

 

  _Jon turns on his car, navigates his way back to the freeway. He puts the top down and the air conditioning on, even though the sun’s set and the temperature’s dropping around him. The cold pricks at his nerves, making his skin hypersensitive. His fingers are numb with cold and he drives home on autopilot. It’s late enough that traffic moves easily and the streets of their neighborhood are empty, palm trees looming in the dark._

_The lights in their house are on when he crawls to a stop by the curb. He doesn’t shut off the car or even put it in park, just lets it idle with his foot on the brake. He’s pressing the pedal down so hard his thigh’s shaking._

Don’t bother coming home. Don’t bother coming home. I don’t know why you left, but _don’t bother coming home._

_Leo’s inside and for one hysterical moment, Jon contemplates going in to get him — just slamming the door and scooping him up, maybe Pundit too — but that’s even more ridiculous than just...sitting outside their house. He eases off the brake, lets the car roll forward until he can bring himself to press the gas and drive away._

_He takes neighborhood roads to Tommy’s, avoiding red lights because if he has to stop, he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to start again. He parks behind Hanna and shuts off the engine. The abrupt silence is shocking. He has to sit in the car and count his breaths before he gets out. Lucca barks at the slam of his car door and their front door swings open, flinging light over the dark lawn._

_Tommy appears, shadowed between the bars of the exterior door. “Jon?”_

_“Hey,” Jon says and his voice cracks. Tommy steps down from the porch in one long stride, like it would slow him down too much to take both steps one at a time._

_“Jon?” he says again, but it’s hesitant, worry laced through the word._

_Jon opens his mouth to speak, but gasps for air instead, drawing in a shaky breath before it rushes out in a harsh sob. It feels like his chest is sinking in, like his sternum’s disappeared and left him vulnerable and exposed. Like he’s missing something crucial, something that was keeping him alive._

_He’s not even crying, it’s just noise, something visceral and guttural. He puts his hand out to steady himself. The hood of his car is too hot, burning his palm. It takes a minute for him to realize, before he rips it away. Tommy takes two steps closer, lets Jon close the rest of the distance. He cradles his aching hand against his chest, stepping into Tommy’s embrace._

_“You’re freezing,” Tommy says, running his hands over Jon’s arms. “Are you okay?”_

_The tears come then, hot and angry, dripping down his neck and into the collar of his shirt. Tommy stands there, solid against him. They stop nearly as quickly as they start, until he’s just gasping into the night air._

_“You wanna come inside?” Tommy offers, releasing him when Jon goes to take a step back._

_Jon nods, then hesitates. “Actually, could I stay for a few days? Maybe a little longer?” He has to swallow hard against the lump rising in his throat and the prickle behind his eyes. “I don’t uh, I don’t have a bag.”_

_Tommy stops, mid-turn back to the house. “Yeah?” It sounds like a question and he rushes to cover his tracks. “Yeah, yeah, of course you can. I’ll make up the couch.”_

_“Okay.” Jon trails him inside, where Hanna’s curled up on the couch. The TV’s flickering in the background, but he can’t focus enough to catch what it is. She stands when he enters, looking uncertain._

_“Jon’s going to stay with us for a while,” Tommy says quietly._

_She gets it immediately. “As long as you need.”_

_“Thanks, Han.” His throat hurts. All of him hurts._

_His eyes feel gritty when he wakes up. For a second, he squeezes his eyes shut like he’ll be back in his bed when he reopens them. The sheet tugs off the couch cushion when he sits up and the motion makes Tommy, sitting at the counter, look over._

_“Morning,” he says cautiously. Jon can’t make his throat work, so he just makes a muffled noise in response and reaches for his phone. When he turns the screen on, it’s to a low battery notification. Nothing else._

_Tommy says something else, but he misses it, thumbing open his text chain with Lovett. Nothing new there either. Just_ don’t bother coming home.

_Don’t bother._

_He starts a message:_ Hey.

_Deletes it._

_The mature -- the reasonable, rational -- thing to do would be to call him, send flowers to the house, apologize. It’s what he should do._

_But he thinks twice about it. Thinks about going home to an atmosphere full of tension, to gearing up for another fight, to rehashing the same arguments one other time._

Don’t bother.

_He puts his phone away._

 

 

_He's been waking up early, since he moved onto Tommy and Hanna's couch. It feels especially unfair now. He'd rather just sleep the day away, never emerging._

_But it's 6am and he's already caught up on the news, read a few pages of the book he pulled from Tommy's shelf — he wonders what Lovett would say if he knew he was finally reading_ Dark Money — _and if he lies on this couch any longer he'll start to go insane._

_They're still asleep and the apartment feels impossibly lonely in the still quiet. It's even too early for morning traffic outside their door._

_It's a Sunday and he can feel the weight of the week already settling across his shoulders. But, it is a Sunday._

_He gets up to rifle through his bag — he'd gone by to collect some clothes while Lovett taped his show Friday night, too angry to even chance that he could be there, and it's a relief to have clean clothes again — and pulls out some nicer pants and a button up. He's done a lot of things that have felt crazy this week, but somehow this isn't one of them._

_The streets are mostly empty (helpful, when he misses the turn from his GPS and has to pull a quick u-turn) and he makes it to the church quickly. He gets out of the car before he can question the decision. The church is tucked in the hills, surrounded by Old Hollywood. The palm trees and pale stuccoed buildings are light years away from the imposing, familiar brick churches of Massachusetts._

_Still, taking the stairs two at a time and stepping onto the red carpet of the sanctuary, he feels some loose part of himself settle. He slips into a pew, mid-way up the aisle. Right side, a Favreau family habit. There’s the creak of wood as he unfolds the kneeler, the quiet murmur of someone greeting their neighbor a few pews up, the rustle of someone’s Bible. The bright California sun filters through the elaborate stained glass windows, casting the church in a multi-colored glow._

_He can pinpoint the last time he was in church nearly to the day and he hasn’t seriously considered attending church regularly since he was in college. He can’t even fully articulate what led him_ here _, but he kneels down, folding his hands against the back of the pew in front of him. It’s the first time all week he’s felt calm._

 

 

Lovett’s halfway out the door, still complaining when Jon reaches over to grab the extra set of keys on the ring next to the door. “I’m not _sprightly_ anymore. It’s like my body woke up one day and said ‘ _nope_ , not today, not ever again, thank you _very_ much’. If this is 40, I’d like to send it back.”

“Here,” Jon says, pressing the keys toward him. “So you don’t have to sit outside and wait next time.”

“Presumptive of you to think there will be a next time,” Lovett says even as he steps back toward him, reaching out for the keyring.

Jon shrugs. “Just going off of past experience here. Also, Tommy has one too, so it’s not like…”

“What? It’s not special? I’m not special? Your plan for a next time isn’t boding well here.”

“That’s not —” Jon scrubs at his forehead and bites his lip in an attempt to hide his smile “—what I meant. It’s not a big deal. Or, I don’t mean for it to be one.”

“Yeah,” Lovett says quietly, lingering in the door. They both study each other for a minute before he huffs out a breath. “Can I — can I kiss you?”

Jon huffs a short laugh, not much more than a breath. “Please.”

He’s barely said the word before Lovett’s letting the door fall shut behind him as he closes the short distance. “Enthusiastic consent or whatever the fuck Alyssa says,” Lovett quips, even as he’s leaning in, pulling Jon in with a hand on the back of his neck. 

“I’m enthusiastic,” Jon grumbles against his mouth. It’s childish, but it makes Lovett laugh. The kiss is sweet and quiet in the still of Jon’s apartment. Lovett tastes like pizza and smells a little like old sweat and a lot like laundry detergent – the same one Jon still uses because he’s never, could never, fully extricate himself from the life they shared together. 

It doesn’t last nearly as long as he wants it to. He has to reach out to Lovett to steady himself when Lovett falls down off his toes, lean down against Lovett’s shoulder, brace himself against him. There’s no time for thinking, no time to talk through or debate or analyze. His brain just shuts off, letting his instincts take the lead.

Lovett cups the back of his head for a minute, his small hand fitting along Jon’s neck. It’s the same spot he’d reach for on long road trips, stretching across the console of the car for the barest brush of contact.

“Goodnight,” Lovett says quietly, running his fingers through the ends of Jon’s hair, his jaw moving against where Jon has his face tucked against him.

Jon stands straight, pulls away. Leans in for one more kiss. “Goodnight.”

Lovett gropes blindly backward until he finds the door handle, steps back out with a small smile. There’s nothing left to say, but Jon follows him out anyway. Jon’s got a hand braced against the door frame and the other propped against the door, the light throwing a deep shadow over the grubby hallway carpet.

Lovett hesitates at the end of the hallway, shadowed in the dark. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

It’s enough. More than enough. Not enough.

“Yeah,” he agrees, “see you tomorrow.”


End file.
